such a happiness
by airbefore
Summary: Photographer Kate Beckett and aspiring novelist Rick Rodgers are perfectly content in their solitary lives. But it's only after an unlikely matchmaker conspires to have them meet that they realize how extraordinary their lives could become. A Castle AU for Summer Ficathon 2016 co-written by airbefore and caffinate-me.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** We don't own them, as much as we might wish we did.

 **Note:** This story is being co-written by airbefore and Caffeinate-Me as an entry into the Summer 2016 Ficathon. It is our intention to post new chapters each Wednesday but as life is a thing that happens, please bear with us should something prevent that. We hope you have as much fun reading this story as we're having writing it.

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" _It's such a happiness when good people get together."_

― **Jane Austen** , **Emma**

Chapter 1

"And that is why it is important to make an outline no matter what you are writing. Now, let's talk about - "

The sharp ring of the bell cuts him off. Chair legs scrape across the floor as twenty teenagers scramble to get out of the classroom. Every period ends in a mad dash for the door but there's always a special swiftness at the conclusion of the last class on Friday afternoons.

"Don't forget, your papers on Emma are due Monday. Remember- theme analysis, character development. I don't just want a plot summary." A chorus of groans rises up to drown out his pronouncement. "Five pages, single spaced. And Mr. Simpson -" he points at a lanky boy sporting a crooked grin - "please try to come up with a more creative excuse than an expired grandparent this time, okay? I've been counting. I know you've run out."

The kid gives him a mock salute and saunters out the door, his long arm looped around the shoulders of a petite blonde, the fourth one this semester. Shaking his head, Richard Rodgers drops into his desk chair, the faux leather sighing under his weight. How pathetic is it that a seventeen year old seems to be getting more action than him? Probably not as pathetic as the fact that he's noticed but – still.

The minute hand on the clock above his desk ticks forward and Rick sighs; the quizzes from his third period class won't grade themselves. Grabbing a purple pen from the cup on his desk, he starts at the top of the stack, marking off incorrect answers with his trademark frowny face rather than the traditional X. He gets pretty regular doses of grief from the administration and parents over his less than orthodox classroom practices but the test scores his kids turn in speak for themselves. Teaching may not be his passion but damn if he isn't good at it.

A laugh rolls up his throat when he finds a half-finished, crude drawing on one of the papers in the middle of the stack. He finishes the sketch, turning what he's fairly certain was supposed to be a giant phallus looming over the city into a punctured blimp, the dying body slumping down over a horrified Statue of Liberty.

A violent buzzing starts inside his desk just as he's putting the finishing touches on the blimp. Four o'clock. Finally. Mentally fist pumping, Rick shoves the rest of the papers into his briefcase and fishes his still vibrating phone out of the drawer. He shoves it in his pocket as he stands, muscles quivering with anticipation. He never blames the kids for the way they bolt out his room at the end of every class. He can't, not when he feels that same rush of adrenaline at the mere thought of escape.

Rick slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door, a mantra of _grown men don't run away from school_ the only thing keeping him at a respectable pace. He's halfway down the hall - freedom in sight - when the polite clearing of a throat stops him in his tracks.

"Rick!"

He turns on a sigh, a small smile - one he hopes doesn't look too pained - stretching his lips. He's supposed to be happy to see the woman he's sort of accidentally maybe dating, right? "Hi, Stacy."

"I know you're busy tonight - your regular writing time and all - but would you be interested in dinner tomorrow?"

"Oh, I…"

"Or brunch on Sunday?" She cuts in before he can formulate a delicate way to say no.

Brunch. Brunch is a safe meal to have with a colleague. "Sure, brunch sounds nice."

"Great! There's a new place near my apartment that's supposed to be amazing. _Amelie's_. I've heard they have the best avocado toast. Does that work?"

"Sounds great." Because there's nothing he'd rather spend fifteen dollars on than overripe avocado smashed onto burnt rye bread.

"Awesome!" Stacy claps once, bouncing up onto her toes, and he feels his smile soften into something more genuine. She _is_ a warm and caring person, perfect for someone. Just not him. "I'll make a reservation for eleven and text you the address. See you then?"

"Yeah, see you then."

Stacy trots away, her blonde ponytail swinging, and Rick scrubs a hand down his face. There are very few ideas worse than dating a colleague – a lesson he learned the hard way with Leslie Sylvester his first year on the job – but accidentally dating them has to qualify. He still isn't entirely sure how it happened. Somehow polite chitchat in the teachers' lounge turned into two coffee dates which have now apparently turned into brunch. He has to figure out a way to let her down before he ends up accidentally married with two kids and a dog.

Sunlight reflects off the pavement when he steps outside and Rick squints, yet again cursing himself for never remembering sunglasses. The laptop-heavy briefcase bounces off his thigh as he hustles down the block, the burn of creativity already spreading down his neck and shoulders. The scene has been spinning in the back of his mind all day and he has to get it out. Has to put the words on the page before his head explodes.

The shimmering tinkle of the bell over the coffee shop door only makes it worse. He's developed a Pavlovian response to it over the months since he first found this tiny, hole-in-the-wall cafe. The smoldering fires in his fingertips erupt and all he wants is to sit down and go.

Rick tosses a polite smile at the owner, Brenda, on his way to his regular rickety table tucked away in the back corner. In any other circumstance, in any other place, he'd worry about coming across as rude but not here. Not anymore. They know that he's never good for conversation in the afternoons, not until he's spent at least a solid hour pounding away at the keyboard.

Two hours later he lifts his head from the screen and blinks into the hazy light of the shop, bringing the world back into focus. An empty coffee cup he doesn't remember drinking much less ordering sits next to his computer and he smiles. Brenda always takes care of him.

He clicks the save button three times before pushing himself out of his seat, knees and back popping as he wanders up to the counter. He places the ceramic mug in the dish return and gets in the short line. A middle-aged woman in front of him, her long brown hair shot through with confident streaks of gray, chats with Brenda as she waits for her drink.

"Richard, another?" Brenda asks with a knowing tilt of her lips.

"Yes please," he replies, an answering smile spreading across his face. Every day he comes in the shop and every day he finds her behind the counter, apron covered in coffee stains and a warm welcome on her lips. He's sure she knows all of her regular customers by name, but it doesn't keep him from feeling special when she greets him like a friend.

"Johanna, here you go," Brenda continues, turning to the woman standing next to him at the counter. "And be sure to let me know how it goes. This one is cute."

"Will do," Johanna replies with a chuckle before heading over to slide into a chair across from a dramatically younger man.

Rick's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, still watching the "couple", when he reaches to take the proffered cup from Brenda with a clumsy hand. He wants to pry. Wants to pick Brenda's brain about this Johanna. He wants to know why she's wearing a wedding ring on what seems to be a date with a man half her age.

Maybe she's a recent widow being forced back out into the dating scene by well meaning friends. Or perhaps her husband has recently left her for a younger woman and she's auditioning young men to get back at him. Or maybe she's a CIA operative, part of an elite cougar squad, targeting young men in the tech industry to –

Rick takes a sip of his cappuccino and gives himself an internal head shake. It's never CIA. He should know better by now.

Brenda has moved on to the next customer so he makes his way back to his seat. He shuffles his laptop to the other side of the round bistro table as he slips into the chair, tapping the spacebar to bring it back to life. Johanna and her date chat amicably across the room and he finds his eyes darting up to watch. He falls into a rhythm. Type. Sip. Watch.

Type. Sip. Watch.

Five minutes later he has written two awful sentences and he catches Johanna sliding a photo across to the man. Rick perks up, all pretense of writing gone as he leans a bit too far across the table. Maybe it really is CIA. Or a mob hit. Oh, man. The stories.

"You doing okay there, Richard?"

Rick fumbles for his drink, catching it just in time to keep it from spilling all over the faded and missing keys of his ancient laptop as Brenda stops in the perfect spot to block his view of Johanna's table. If that really is her name.

"Oh. Yes. I'm fine. Good. All good."

"See something interesting?"

Rick raises his head from where he is trying to casually peer around Brenda's hips. She's smirking down at him, arms folded across her chest.

"No. Nope. Just people watching, you know." He forces out a chuckle. "All the best writers do it, so I've heard."

Brenda turns away with a hum, swiping his cup as she goes, saying something him not needing any more caffeine today. Rick redirects his attention to the table across the way. The younger man must have slipped out while he was distracted, but the woman is still there, sitting crossed legged in her chair while she scribbles in a notebook. And just as Brenda plunks a bottle of water down next to him, another young man slips into the vacant chair.

Oh, this is better than HBO.

He watches from under his lashes, face half hidden behind the computer screen, until the second man leaves and Brenda wanders up to Johanna. A moment later both women turn to look at him and Rick drops his head, zeroing in on the laptop. His fingers fly over the keyboard, a string of nonsensical words appearing on the screen.

"You're Richard, right?"

Rick's fingers freeze and his eyes roll up, taking the rest of his face with them until he's gazing up at the woman standing on the other side of the table. He doesn't bother to save his work before clicking the laptop shut- he hasn't written anything worth a damn since this whole interlude started anyway.

"Rick. Yes. Hi. And you are?"

"Johanna Beckett."

She holds out her hand and Rick pushes himself halfway out of his chair to grasp it. Warm, strong. If it's true that a person's personality can be judged by their handshake, he is in big trouble with this woman.

"Brenda tells me you're a writer." Johanna continues, slipping into the chair across from him, content to make herself at home.

"Sort of. Mostly just aspiring." He admits in response, his gut warning him to be wary of how comfortable it is to talk to this woman. "I teach high school English for my day job," he says, tapping a finger against the school logo embroidered on the pocket of his shirt.

She nods as she flips open her notebook, jotting something in quick shorthand and Rick scrunches his brow as he attempts to interpret it upside down.

"Are you married?"

"I, uh, no?" The response trips along his tongue and he watches as she scribbles another note with a hum.

"Seeing anyone?"

"Not - not really."

"Not really? What does that mean? Oh, nevermind," Johanna huffs, the wrinkles around her mouth deepening as she looks up and assesses him with shrewd eyes. Up close in this lighting, he can see the through the age lines and the streaks of grey in her chestnut hair. She must have been a knockout when she was younger. "Gay?"

Rick chokes on his tongue and Johanna chuckles. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"Look, you seem like a perfectly nice, if direct woman - not that that's a bad quality, I appreciate directness in people - but I'm not interested."

One eyebrow lifts as Johanna tilts her head to the side, something he cannot quite name dancing just behind the ghost of her smile. "And what exactly is it that you're not interested in?"

"Dating you? Or being a spy in the unlikely event that theory is actually correct. Though you might be able to convince me on the spy thing, provided the gadgets are cool enough. But like I said, you seem very lovely, but I generally date within my own age bracket and prefer those dates to be with unmarried women," he finishes pointing a finger at her left hand.

The force of her laughter makes the water in his bottle ripple. "You're a confident one, aren't you? I like that."

Rick feels his face slacken, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Mrs. Beck-"

"Oh, call me Johanna," she says, waving him off with the hand that still clutches her pen. "I'm not _that_ much older than you."

"Even so -"

"And get that look off your face. I'm not about to drag you into Brenda's stockroom and have my way with you - handsome as you may be. "

"Then what -"

"I'm looking for dates for my daughter," she says and Rick has to wonder if anyone ever gets to finish a sentence when Johanna Beckett is around. "Katie. Well, Kate. She decided when she was nineteen that Katie just wasn't who she was anymore and so now she insists on being Kate but, you know, old habits die hard. Anyway," Johanna takes her first breath and Rick grabs the opportunity with both hands.

"I'm sure Katie - Kate - is just as lovely as yourself but I'm not really interested in dating right now."

Johanna's eyebrow lifts again and he's pretty certain she can tell he's lying. Because he is interested in dating. Just not coworkers or women who have to be set up by their mothers.

Without a word, Johanna pulls the five by seven photograph out of the back of her notebook and slides it across the table, her mouth tilted into a smug grin. "You sure about that?"

He was right. Johanna was a knockout in her youth. She had to have been because the woman in the picture - with her caramel hair and tanned skin and fathomless green eyes - is Johanna thirty years and a handful of wrinkles ago. Rick can't help himself. He reaches for the picture, his ragged nails struggling to pry it up off the scuffed wooden table top.

"She's beautiful," he breathes, the words coming without his permission.

"Mm-hmm," Johanna nods, preening like a proud momma hen. "And whip smart and talented to boot. Not just saying that because I'm her mother either."

Rick can't bring himself to look away from the picture. Even in a still image, she's captivating. A playful grin curls her pink lips but it's the sadness behind her eyes that draws him in, has him wanting to know more - everything - about her.

"She's even better in person," Johanna says with an easy laugh and Rick forces his gaze up. The edge of the thick paper shakes as he hands it back across the table.

"I'm sure she is." His eyes track Johanna's hand, drawn to glossy image of a woman he's never met as her mother tucks the photograph back into her notebook. "And I'm also fairly sure she doesn't know about this," Rick says, snapping back to himself.

Johanna shrugs, no trace of shame in her face. "What Katie doesn't know, won't hurt her."

"She might hurt _you_ when she finds out," Brenda says, walking over to the table, a rag tucked into the waist of her apron.

"Oh hush," Johanna clucks, waving her hands. "I meddle because I love. She knows that. If she'd try living her own life instead of just taking photographs of other people's, I wouldn't have to do this. But -" She turns her attention back toward Rick and he feels himself shrink under her gaze. "I think it's safe to assume from your reaction to her picture, that you are not, in fact, gay."

He shakes his head.

"Good," she exclaims, clapping her hands together. "I think you'd be just perfect for -"

"No," Rick cuts in. He starts packing up his laptop, and stands. "Johanna, it was lovely to meet you," he says, stuffing his power cord into the side pocket of his briefcase. Grabbing the water, nods to the two women staring at him. "Brenda, I'll see you tomorrow."

Brenda smiles and wiggles her fingers in a tiny wave. Johanna stands up from her chair and trails him to the door. "Rick -"

"You just don't quit, do you?"

She shakes her head. "That's what made me a great lawyer."

Rick laughs, hand pressed against the glass door of the cafe. "Should have known. Look, Johanna, you're - you're something else. And your daughter is gorgeous." He pushes the door open and steps out onto the sidewalk. "But I'm just not your man."

He turns to walk away, an involuntary smile pulling at his lips as Johanna calls after him.

"No. You're not _my_ man, Rick. You're Katie's."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** _Wow! Thank you all so much for the amazing response to the first chapter! We are so delighted to know that so many of you are looking forward to taking this journey with us. We wanted to post this chapter early as a thank you to everyone who has reviewed or followed or favorited or even just read. We appreciate it so much. Chapter three will go up on the regularly scheduled Wednesday so until then: Enjoy!_

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Chapter 2

The slow click of the shutter brings a smile to Kate's face. Everyone expects rapid fire from a camera but in the twilight hours patience is key. The extended setting allows that extra bit of needed light to filter in, but it can't be rushed. It's about quality, not quantity. Any amateur with a point-and-shoot can take a thousand photographs and end up with one good one. A true professional only needs one shot. The perfect shot.

The roll of black and white film starts to rewind and Kate feels that familiar spark of anticipation, the live wire that dances inside her chest when she knows she's gotten a good picture. She frees the roll from its cradle and drops it into the pocket of her worn canvas bag before unwinding the three cameras from her body. One for black and white film, one for color, and one digital. Her mother never fails to tell her she has too many cameras and Kate always offers the same response: there's no such thing.

Swirls of pink and orange paint the horizon as she makes her way across the park to the nearest subway station. Freshly manicured toenails wink in the dying light, happy to once again be able to indulge in the freedom of her canvas sandals now that the final nip of winter has left the air. Her flowing skirt ripples in the light breeze and it sends a shiver of pure joy skittering up her spine. Spring has always been her favorite season.

Kate meanders toward home, the weight of her bag welcome against her side as she strolls. She watches the city pass by, the buildings, the cars, the people. Oh, the people. Some of her favorite shots are the pictures she gets when her subject has no idea they are being photographed. It's when she gets to see the true heart of a person. What makes them tick.

A couple sitting on a bench catches her attention and Kate's hand drifts to the flap on her bag. She pulls out her digital camera, fingers already adjusting the settings. The rough brick building scratches at her back as she waits. Watches. The woman's wide shoulders shudder and Kate lifts her camera, catching the exact moment the first tear rolls down her round, full cheek. Giving them back their privacy, Kate pushes off the wall and rejoins the flow of pedestrians. She leaves her camera out, the strap snug against the back of her neck, eyes scanning for another opportunity.

The subway steps come too soon and Kate sighs, stowing her camera back in her bag for safe keeping. The site of the street performer on the corner of the platform begs for a chance to be captured, but the the steady flow of rush hour traffic makes it impossible. She settles for watching the sea of businesspeople, men and women dressed in combinations of suits, heels and perfectly knotted ties. Kate's loose skirt flutters as the train races into the station. They look like they're suffocating.

Three stops and fifteen minutes later, she's lugging her bag up the the single flight of stairs to her SoHo apartment. Kate pushes the barnwood door open, shoving on it when it hits that one sticky point in the middle of the track, and smiles as she breaths in the lingering scents of lavender and vanilla. Home. The red light on her answering machine blinks but she ignores it as she unloads her bag. Her stomach rumbles as she frees the roll of film from its pocket with trembling fingers. Food will have to wait, she decides, her hunger for the darkroom far stronger.

Anticipation ebbs into calmness when Kate pushes through the door of her converted darkroom, the one time closet serving a higher purpose now. She hits play on the stereo in the corner and hums along as Joni Mitchell's voice joins the red light filling the small space. She falls into a rhythm, her hands working almost independently to develop the film. It's only when sharp pangs of hunger have her pressing a hand to abdomen a couple hours later that she clips up one last photograph. Kate lingers in the doorway, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she surveys her work.

There's just something about film.

Her bare feet curl against the chill seeping out of her roughhewn floors as she pads through the loft. She really should ask her dad for the number of that insulation guy. Her thumb brushes over the playback button on her answering machine on the way to the kitchen, not at all surprised when her mother's voice crackles out of the tinny speaker. She pulls left over chicken lo mein out of the fridge and digs into it cold, head bobbing in time with the cadence of her mother's rant.

" _Katie, I tried calling your cell three times. I was going to text but I know you don't even bother to check those. What is the point of you having a cell phone if you never answer it? Is it even charged? I'll bet it's sitting dead at the bottom of that oversized bag of yours, buried underneath all those cameras."_

Kate's eyes drift to the a crumpled heap of canvas on the counter, trying to remember the last time she even saw the phone, much less used it. She should probably check on that.

" _Anyway, I was trying to call to remind you about dinner tonight -"_

The fork hangs in mid-air, one saucy noodle dangling off the side. Damn.

" _-but I'm guessing it's safe to assume you have forgotten. You're lucky my marinara is better on the third day. Have your butt here tomorrow night, seven o'clock. I've got something to talk to you about."_

Her dinner turns into a rock in her esophagus. Nothing - absolutely _nothing_ \- good can come of whatever it is her mother has planned. Because even from just a message on a decade old answering machine, Kate knows her mother is planning something.

Pushing off the counter, Kate tosses the remains of her dinner in the garbage and her fork in the sink. She grabs the digital camera from the counter and makes her way over to what her father generously calls her home office but is really just a beat up old desk with an iMac and scanner perched on top. The computer wakes when she wiggles the mouse and Kate plugs in the camera, opening up the folder of raw images.

She'll worry about whatever insane plan Johanna Beckett has concocted tomorrow. Tonight, she works.

* * *

The subway car rocks back and forth, clattering along under the streets of Manhattan. Kate stands in the middle of a crush of people, one hand wrapped loosely around a pole and the other clutching at her bag. She only brought one camera tonight but it's her favorite one, an antique Rolleiflex that her parents had given her for her thirtieth birthday.

Well, her dad had given her. Her mother had made it clear that her gift was actually the year long membership to some elite dating site that Kate had never even heard of before and hadn't used since.

A little boy of about eight sits on the bank of seats closest to her, holding hands with an elderly woman Kate assumes to be his grandmother. The boy chatters nonstop in a language Kate doesn't understand but she doesn't need to, not with the way the old woman smiles, her wrinkled face alight with the reflected joy of youth. Kate's fingers itch to reach for her camera, to capture the way the woman's toothless grin widens into a delighted laugh or how her wrinkled hand looks both strong and delicate wrapped protectively around the smaller, unblemished one of the boy.

It's moments like this where she entertains - at least temporarily - her mother's suggestions about purchasing a smartphone. Because even a less than stellar picture of the scene before her would be better than no picture at all.

The speakers announce her stop and Kate makes her way off the train, shoulders brushing up against strangers. The terminal bustles around her, the people of the city always in a rush, even on a Saturday night.

The smell of roasted garlic permeates the hallway leading to her parent's door. Kate breathes it in, fills her lungs with it, lets the warmth fortify her. She doesn't even have time to fish her keys out of the bottom of her bag before the door swings open to reveal her father's smiling face.

"Katie!" Jim Beckett exclaims, the garbage bag in his left hand thumping against her back when he pulls her in for a tight hug. The spicy scent of his aftershave tickles her nose and Kate closes her eyes, squeezing him back just as hard.

"Hey, Dad."

"Did you bring me some pictures?"

Releasing her hold and stepping back, Kate nods. Her decision sophomore year to drop out of Stanford so she could travel and enroll in an art school had been a shock to everyone. Her mother had tried to talk her out of it but her dad just took her hand, her wrist still encased in a hard plaster cast after the accident, and told her he would support her no matter what.

"Excellent," he says. He lifts his arm, swinging the garbage bag like a pendulum. "Let me just run this down to the chute and I'll be right back to look at them. Your mother's in the kitchen."

Her dad heads down the hall, favoring his left leg. Kate watches him for a moment, a dull ache radiating out from the center of her chest. He's needed knee surgery for at least three years but keeps refusing to get it, insisting that sixty-five is far too young for his body parts to need replacing. It hurts her to see him in pain but she refuses to push.

One meddler is enough for this family.

"Hey, Mom," Kate calls out, dumping her bag on the chair next to the front door. Following her mother's long standing 'no shoes in the house' rule, she slips off her ballet flats and pushes them up against the wall. The leopard print stands out next to the various sedate shades of brown of her parents' more sensible shoes. "Dinner smells good."

"It smelled good last night too," Johanna throws back, poking her head out of the kitchen. "Too bad you missed that one."

"Sorry," Kate says, walking over to press a kiss to her mother's cheek. She boosts herself up onto the counter next to the sink, heels bouncing off the cabinet doors. "I got caught up with work."

"I didn't know you had a wedding last night."

"Not a wedding." Kate snags a piece of the crusty French loaf sitting on the cutting board. Her incisors rip at the bread, crumbs falling down into her lap. "Was at the park taking some landscape shots."

"If you're not making money, Katie, it doesn't count as work."

Kate's eyes slip closed and she sucks in a deep, centering breath. They've had this argument more times than she can count. "Art is about more than just money, Mom. Portfolio shots and exhibit work are just as important to raise my profile. I think I got one I want to add to the gallery opening on Monday."

The image of the tear running down the woman's cheek had caused Kate's breath to catch in her throat the moment it had loaded on her computer. The raw emotion she managed to capture in that one shot had left her mesmerized. So mesmerized she had almost been late for tonight's dinner as she sat staring at the screen. No editing necessary.

"Yes, well taking some pictures of flowers in the park doesn't pay the bills."

With a roll of her eyes, Kate mouths along with the words she knows are coming next.

"We didn't set up that trust fund for you just so you could squander it all in the pursuit of artistic expression." Johanna turns, waving a sauce covered spoon in her direction. "What you need to do is find yourself a nice man, settle down and focus on your wedding business. Speaking of men…"

Kate lets out a huff as she slips from the counter and pads over to the wine cabinet, pulling out an unopened bottle of merlot.

"There's a bottle of cabernet on the table," Johanna interrupts her own sentence to interject.

"Oh, I think I'm going to need a bottle all to myself for this conversation," Kate replies, wiggling the cork loose with a pop.

"Don't be so cynical. As I was saying, I met the nicest young man who I think would be great for…"

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish."

"I didn't need to. It's a no, Mom. And I'm not being cynical. I will find someone if and when I want." Kate takes a swig of her wine, heart hammering against her ribs. She gestures at her mother with the glass, her second wind blowing in on the current of alcohol running down her throat. "And, for the record, I take more than enough weddings and other paying gigs to cover my bills. Your precious trust fund has paid for my apartment and nothing more."

"Katie, that's not-"

The front door clicks shut and Kate's shoulders sink in relief as her father appears in the kitchen doorway. "I miss anything interesting?"

"Just the usual," Kate replies, scooting past him and into the livingroom, wine glass firmly in hand.

"Ah," her dad says, following her, "how many nice young men does your mother have lined up for you this time?"

"My guess would be about a dozen."

"Don't exaggerate, Katherine. It's just one, and he would be perfect for you!" Johanna calls after them and Jim chuckles as Kate lets out a pained groan.

"She's relentless."

"She just wants you to be happy."

"If my happiness was all she wanted, she'd recognize that I _am_ happy with my life and back off." Kate flops onto the couch, the hem of her peasant blouse fluttering. "What she really wants is for me to be a lawyer, married to another lawyer, with 2 kids and a golden retriever."

"You're perfect exactly the way you are." Jim cajoles, leaning forward from his spot in his worn recliner to pat her knee as she attempts to sink even further into the couch. "I've always thought so."

Kate smiles at him. "Thanks, Dad."

"Now," he says, eyes dancing with that light of pure interest she loves, "tell me about this gallery opening you have next week. What are you showing?"

* * *

They make it to dessert before the topic comes up again.

"Let me tell you about the man I met the other day, Katie," Johanna chirps, dipping her spoon into a bowl of chocolate gelato, "I was at Brenda's cafe and -"

Kate's coffee cup hits the table with a clatter. She slips out of her chair and heads for the front door, hands fisted at her sides.

"Katherine Beckett," her mother calls, the legs of her own chair scraping across the floor as she stands. "What in the world has gotten into you? Come back here."

"No," Kate spits, spinning around. "I'm tired of this, Mom."

"Of what?"

"Of this," she says, motioning between them. "Of you inviting me over here only to badger me about all the things you think are wrong with my life."

"I'm only trying - "

"You're trying to make my life into what _you_ want it to be. That's what this is about. That's what it's been about since I made the decision step off the path you'd carved out. And I love you, Mom, but I just can't do it anymore." Kate bends over and tugs on her shoes. "I know you don't understand because it's not what you planned for me but I am happy with my life the way it is."

"Why don't we all just take a deep breath," Jim says, pushing back from the table and coming to stand between them. "Let's finish our dessert and then Katie can show us her newest batch of pictures."

Kate shakes her head, reaching for her bag. She loops the strap around her neck, the tan canvas crossing over her body. "I can't, Dad," she says leaning over to kiss his cheek by way of apology. She presses a small leather portfolio into his hands before heading for the door. "Let me know what you think of those." Kate feels like a defiant teenager rather than a grown woman of thirty-two when she meets her mother's eyes. "I'm proud of them."

"Katherine, please."

"Don't bother coming Monday, Mom," Kate says, and Johanna sways on the spot as if she's been slapped. "I don't want you there if you can't give me your full support." Kate steps out into the hallway, her stomach churning as she reaches for the door knob. "I'll call you later in the week, Dad, to let you know how it went."

She barely makes it to the elevator before tears come.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Rick stands at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal, the smell of fresh baked bread from the bakery across the street filling his lungs. Yeast and flour and possibility. A light breeze lifts his hair off his forehead and he closes his eyes, face turned up to the midday sun. A shoulder slamming into his knocks him off balance and he comes back to himself. The backs of his new loafers pinch at his heels as he lets the crush of pedestrian traffic carry him across to the other side of the street.

He's been off balance since leaving the coffee shop on Friday. A woman with mysterious green eyes, like the ones that had stared back at him from the photograph, had suddenly appeared in his story as he typed on Saturday afternoon, only to disappear with a click of the backspace button. Half of his day's writing gone.

"Rick!"

Steeling himself for what will probably be one of the most awkward meals of his life, Rick raises a hand in greeting. Stacy squeezes through the small crowd milling around outside the restaurant, her hair pulled back in a complicated braid and a flowing polka-dot sundress dancing around her thighs.

"Hi!" she chirps once she's close enough to hook an arm around his waist in a sideways hug.

On instinct he loops his own arm over her shoulders to return the gentle squeeze. Stacy looks up at him, a smile splitting her rosy cheeks and he finds himself imagining what it would be like to kiss her. The thought takes him by surprise, sends a weird stabbing pain through his chest. Letting his arm fall away, Rick stuffs his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants and juts his chin toward the door of the restaurant.

"You hungry?"

Stacy nods, her hand coming up to slip into the crook of his elbow. "I made a reservation but they're pretty packed so we're going to have to wait out here a little while," she says, listing into him.

He did not anticipate sidewalk small talk. "Sounds good."

"Some of my friends are here," Stacy tells him, her smile slipping into sheepishness. "Do you want to meet them?"

Shit. He cannot meet her friends. He cannot let her continue to stare up at him with that hopeful look in her eyes.

He cannot go through with this.

"Stacy, I think we need to talk." Her smile shatters and he hates himself that much more for ever letting it get this far. "You're really sweet and an amazing teacher and just so great as, you know, a person but I don't - this isn't - I'm not really -"

Her fingers squeeze hard at the tender meat inside his elbow and she steps back, letting her hand slip down to land against her thigh. "It's okay, Rick," she says, her normally cheery voice dropping almost an octave. "I understand."

"I'm sorry."

She bats away his apology with the wave of one manicured hand. "Don't be. I like you but I guess I knew it was a long shot."

"You - you're sure? You don't wanna punch me or anything? 'Cause I'd totally let you if you did."

The knot in his stomach loosens when she laughs, deep and real. "No, but I will still let you buy me brunch."

"I, yeah, sure," Rick stumbles, staring at the reappearance of her smile, relentless in its optimism. Maybe he should clarify, just in case. "But just as friends."

"Yes," she nods, her blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. "As friends."

* * *

Rick breathes out a sigh of relief as he slips into his usual chair with his usual cappuccino at his usual table at Brenda's Café. His fingers itch to write, brain already consumed by his characters. He takes a sip of his coffee but he doesn't taste it, his senses lost to the story as he tries to commit every last detail to paper.

The remnants of his drink have gone sticky in the bottom of the mug by time he breaks away from the screen, his eyes gritty and aching from the strain. Rick stretches his arms high over his head and twists to the side, groaning quietly when he feels the satisfying pop of vertebrae somewhere in the middle of his back. The world around him comes back into focus and he finds a familiar face smirking at him from across the table.

"Geez!" He jumps in his seat, hissing when his knees connect with the underside of the table. "How long have you been sitting there?"

Johanna Beckett shrugs, lifting her mug to still grinning lips. "Long enough to just about finish this." She nods at his cup. "You want another?"

Dumbfounded and disoriented, all he can do is nod.

His eyes trail her on her journey up to the counter and he considers making a run for it but doesn't get any further than stowing his laptop in his bag before both Johanna and Brenda are staring at him. He gives a half-hearted wave of his fingers and slouches down in the chair, giving into the fact that there will be no easy escape.

"Oh stop cowering," Johanna says with a laugh as she slides back into her seat and plunks a coffee down in front of him. "You're too large a man to sit hunched over like that." Rick sits up straight and she nods, satisfied. "So, you're very passionate about your writing."

"Yeah, I guess I am," he agrees with the shrug of one shoulder. "I love it."

"You and Katie are a lot alike in that respect, " she continues, pulling a small leather portfolio out of her bag.

"Johanna," he begins with an exasperated breath, his hand waving at whatever it is she's trying to show him, "seeing more pictures of Kate, no matter how beautiful she is, won't change my mind."

"These aren't pictures _of_ Kate," Johanna rebuffs, sliding the book into the middle of the table and flipping it open. "These are pictures _by_ Kate."

Rick's fingers reach out in defiance of the voice in the back of his head shouting at him to get up and walk away. He thumbs through photographs, flipping each page only after long seconds of perusal. He keeps his fingers at the edges of the plastic, unwilling to let the oils on his skin harm the art in front of him. Because that's what it is. Art. A series of candid shots capturing…

Life.

Two fully clothed little girls play in a fountain, the scene - water shooting out of the ground, tiny droplets splashing down to their faces and dripping from soaked cotton - frozen forever in black and white. He can hear their screeches of laughter echo through the coffee shop, the unadulterated sound of joy.

An old man plays chess in the park, one dark and weathered hand pressed to his brow in concentration as he stares at the board. The man's shoulders hunch in frustration, a sharp contrast to his companion who relaxes back in his seat, already smug in his victory, white hair shining in the afternoon sun. Rick wants to reach out, move the pieces, give the man another chance.

Page after page, picture after picture, he's drawn in, powerless to resist the pull.

"These are amazing," he breathes when he finally finds his voice again, his eyes still refusing to leave the scenes in front of him.

"Kate is a wonderfully talented photographer," Johanna agrees, a somberness in her voice that finally draws his gaze. She turns her mug around and around in her hands, the porcelain clattering quietly against the tabletop. "She doesn't think I think so. But I do. She sees life through that camera. She just refuses to live it for herself."

"Why?"

Johanna gives him a wistful smile when he finally looks up, pulled back into the world by her silence. "That's her story to tell you. Here."

She slides an envelope across the table and Rick accepts it with stiff fingers.

"Katie has a gallery opening tomorrow. You should go. Meet her. If something happens it happens. If not, no harm, and I'll leave you alone." Johanna stands, lifting her purse up over her shoulder. "You seem like a good man, Rick. Brenda thinks so too. But I can see it in your eyes. The same thing I see in Katie's. There's so much life out there. You should let yourself live it." She takes a step back, turning toward the door. "Stop being afraid of letting yourself be happy."

* * *

He can't stop thinking about it. About her. Both of them, actually. The pushy mother and the beautiful daughter. He wants to know more. She's a mystery, this Kate Beckett, and God knows he's never been able to resist one of those.

Rick sits on the couch, his computer hot on his lap and the keys shiny with grease from the grilled cheese sandwich he had for dinner. The crusts litter a plate long forgotten on the coffee table. He's been at it for most of the evening, ignoring the papers he needs to grade in favor of scouring the internet for any and all traces of Kate Beckett. He found her official website- KHB Photography- spartan and well designed with links to portfolios of her work. It only leaves him wanting to know more.

But it's become apparent he won't find the answers to his endless questions through the internet because she doesn't seem to exist anywhere else. No Facebook, or Instagram, or blogs. Not even an old MySpace profile. His mental image of her has started to turn from shy introvert to recluse hermit and the anxiety begins to creep up in his chest. Is he really considering doing this? Meeting a woman he knows nothing about other than what her mother has told him?

He looks through the photographs on her website again, pausing longer on each picture to really soak them in. Happy brides and panorama landscapes, candid shots and sepia toned posed portraits; the variety in her work impresses him. He reaches the end of a page and clicks to the next and his breath catches. How did he overlook this one before? This - wow.

In a world filled with selfies, this could only be described as a self portrait. The photograph of the photographer taken through the reflection of a window. Scenes of urban living and nature mixing, artful lens flares further obscuring her face already half hidden by her camera.

Mesmerizing.

The chorus of 'All That Jazz' starts up and Rick jerks, barely catching his laptop with one hand before it hits the floor. He fishes his cell phone out of the pocket of his computer bag and swipes his thumb across the screen without looking, flinching at the cacophony that assaults his ear drum.

"Mother, must you always call me from backstage?"

"I'm sorry, Richard," his mother says, her voice raspy from overuse, "but I hesitate to wait until I retire to my room since you keep the night time hours of a man twice your age."

"So a man your age, then?"

"Watch it, kiddo."

Rick laughs, the knot of anxiety loosening just enough that he can pull in a deep breath. In spite of their sometimes fractured and fraught relationship, his mother still has the ability to sooth him. To pull him out of his own head with a well placed jab or bon mot.

"I worry about you cooped up in that tiny apartment with just your imagination for company, darling. When was the last time you painted the town red?"

"There's never enough paint left by the time you get done, Mother."

"Ha ha," she deadpans and he smiles. "I'm serious, Richard. Why are you so opposed to having a little fun?"

"I have fun." Rick protests, more whine seeping into this voice than he would ever admit.

"Really?" Martha's voice sing-songs from the speaker. "What did you do this weekend that was so fun?"

"I, uh, I wrote."

"Of course."

It's a miniscule victory but at least he can say he did something more than sitting at home in his boxers, grading papers and attempting to make his dreams of getting published come true. "And I had brunch with a friend."

"Brunch with a _friend_? Really, darling? You're a relatively young man. What is it those budding minds you teach say now? YOYO?"

"YOLO," he laughs, eyes catching on the invitation poking out from under the pile of papers he really should be grading. "You only live once."

"And indeed you do. So why not make the most of it, Richard?"

Wiping his fingers clean on his pajama pant leg he leans forward, wiggling the invitation out from under the stack. "I'm trying, Mother."

"Try a little harder won't you?" The sound of raucous laughter bounces off his ear drum, the backstage of his mother's plays never anything less than a party. "I gotta go, kiddo; They're calling me. Tah tah!"

"Bye, Mother," Rick replies, eyes not leaving the thin paper envelope even as he drops the phone to his side, letting it thump onto the couch cushion.

He works the invitation out, the thick card stock smooth against this fingertips. Monday evening, eight pm at the Fox Gallery. A quick Google search reveals a small up and coming art gallery in Brooklyn, touting the same three featured artists as the invitation. While the other two artists' profiles include professional headshots next to their bios, Kate's only has the same self portrait from her website, her face obscured by reflection and a camera. His fingers burn to reach out, to move the camera from in front of her face.

To solve the mystery.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Rain beats a lazy rhythm against the umbrella, inconsistent and choppy. Kate makes her way down the sidewalk, a garment bag folded over one arm. Water beads on the tips of her rain boots and the rock in her gut gets heavier with each passing storefront.

She really shouldn't be this nervous. She's had showings before, awkward evenings of polite chit chat with snobby strangers while she waits to see if someone wants to buy a piece of her work. But tonight feels different. Because it is. Everything else - all the school exhibits and single shots lost among a sea of other nameless photographers - has been nothing but a prelude to this. Her first major gallery feature.

Kate splashes up to the entrance of the Fox, the reflection of her body distorted in the water soaked window front. She hits the buzzer and waits, her eyes drifting over to watch the mirror images of passing pedestrians, most of them scurrying down the sidewalk like rats off a sinking ship. A passing delivery truck hits a puddle, dowsing an unlucky young business man. Obscenities fall with the rain and she wants to fish her tiny point-and-shoot out of her purse, weather be damned. The heavy oak door swings open just as she's about to give in to the desire.

"Katherine," Laurent exclaims, his heavy French accent making her name sound far more exotic than she has ever felt. "Come in, come in."

She shivers when the air conditioning hits her damp clothes, goosebumps rising up along her exposed skin. Three spotlighted pictures adorn the stark white wall of the entryway, one from each of the featured artists. She'd had to pay the printer a hefty fee to get the shot of the crying woman ready in time, but seeing it hanging there now - her first offering to the gallery patron - Kate knows it was worth every single penny.

"Laurent, did you have to do that?" She sighs out the question, pointing at the small portrait of herself mounted next to the picture. "The invite was one thing but this -"

"The people will want to know the face of the beautiful creature who created such works of art, Katherine."

Kate looks at him, the muscles in her cheek twitching as she tries to hold back a smile. "Do you have to be so damn _French_?"

"We must get you a drink," Laurent declares with a laugh, putting a point on it with one finger stabbing at the air. "A little nip of brandy to take the chill off your skin. How is that for French?"

He turns away and she lets her smile break free as she follows him through the main exhibition room, the large white space both stark and comforting. He leads her into his office, a small room off the side of the showspace. Its rich decoration and colors make it feel more like a home than a workspace. Kate sinks into the plush velvet couch, the familiar scent of cigars and peppermint rising up out of the cushions.

"Are Sophia and Miles here yet?" She asks, taking the heavy crystal glass he offers her.

Laurent releases a hearty laugh, his thin shoulders shaking. "My dear, the show does not begin for another four hours. Of course you are the first to have arrived."

Kate drops her chin, hair falling in a protective curtain around her face.

"Oh, no, please do not feel embarrassed, Katherine. Your passion - It is what makes you such a magnificent artist." He sits down and takes her hand, his skin papery and cool. "I am honored to have your work on these walls. From the moment I first saw your photographs, I knew you'd be here one day."

"Thank you," Kate murmurs. She drains her glass in one gulp, grateful to have the alcohol as an excuse for the warmth blossoming in cheeks. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No," Laurent says. "The staff and caterers will have everything under control." Kate nods and he smiles, his too-perfect dentures gleaming. "Besides, I know you are dying to go out there and - how do you say - futz with your pictures."

"Is it that obvious?" Kate asks, already standing.

"Only to anyone who has known you for more than five minutes," Laurent chuckles. He waves her out of the office, the signet ring on his left hand clinking against his glass. "Go commune with your babies, Katherine. I will check on you later."

* * *

The caterers arrive just as Kate steps back from rearranging her photos for the third time, teeth working over her bottom lip. Still not right. There's something wrong with the flow, if only she could put her finger on it.

"Sophia, mon amie! How wonderful it is to see you with a smile rather than tears." Laurent's voice bounces back from the front of the gallery and Kate shakes herself from her trance, hands coming up to rub at her eyes. She needs a break. And some dinner based on the growls emanating from her midsection.

Slipping back into her rainboots, Kate grabs her umbrella and sneaks out the side door. She learned her lesson about eating before the show after spending the entire six hours of her first art school exhibition starving, her stomach damn near eating itself. Passed hors d'oeuvres are nothing more than a tease for artists, niceties and small talk taking priority. Splashing through every puddle she comes to in a fit of childish impulsivity that she makes no attempt to suppress, Kate makes her way to the deli down the block, the turkey on fresh baked whole wheat calling her name.

Nervous energy fills the gallery when she gets back, a plastic bag swinging from her wrist. A handful of waiters flutter around, their crisp black shirts popping against the snow white walls. Miles nods his blonde head at her from in front of his own display of pictures, one of his many fresh out of art school groupies hovering at his elbow, hanging off his every word.

Kate sits on a bench in the middle of the room, her sandwich wrapper spread open on her lap. She eats without really tasting anything, attention too focused on the nagging feeling of wrongness in her display. A metal tray hits the floor somewhere in the distance, the clatter enough to jolt her up out of her seat. Kate strides to the wall and plucks a framed canvas from its place, switching it with the nearly identical one a row down. Stepping back, she claps the imaginary dust from her palms and gives the display a satisfied nod.

Perfect.

"Finally happy, Katherine?" Laurent asks with a chuckle as she passes him on her way to change.

Touching one finger to the side of her nose, she gives him a wink. If she's a perfectionist, it's because he taught her to be and they both know it.

* * *

Kate steps out of the bathroom half an hour later, hands smoothing across the fitted lavender and cream lace bodice of her cocktail dress. The hem flutters just above her knees and she has to fight against the urge to twirl on the spot. Her heels clatter against the Italian tile floor and her shoulders roll back, entire body opening up with the confidence she finds in the sound.

Maybe it's the little girl in her, the one who loved to play dress up and try on her mother's costume jewelry, but as much as she enjoys her everyday wardrobe - the flowing skirts, peasant blouses, and vintage headscarves - there's something about dresses and heels that never fails to fill her with a heady rush of power and giddiness.

Grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, Kate makes her way into the gallery, the space already filling with guests. A low murmur of conversation buzzes in her ears as she makes her way over to her exhibit, butterflies dancing in her stomach as she indulges of a sip from the flute.

Each hand she shakes takes away with it a piece of her excitement. With every polite exchange of inane chit chat, she feels herself shutting down. People are exhausting. Having to be around them, to interact with them, drains her. She'd much prefer to take their pictures. Interpret their stories through her lens rather than forced social niceties.

"How badly do you wish you had your camera right now?'

Kate startles at the deep, soft voice spilling over her shoulder. Her curled hair fans out as she spins on the spot. The man holds up his hands, the palms large and pink, and she can't help but notice how soft they look.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he says, his sloping nose throwing a shadow over the shallow valley of his smile. Brown hair flops carelessly over his forehead, a perfect contrast to the clear blue of his eyes. Her right index finger twitches and she can almost hear the phantom click of the shutter.

"It's okay," Kate offers, her heart rate gradually coming back down to normal even as her body tingles with a renewed energy. His smile widens by only a fraction but she finds herself mirroring it, her cheeks lifting along with the room's temperature. "And who says I don't have my camera?"

The rich fullness of his laugh makes her toes curl under. "I know camera tech has come a long way over the past couple of decades but there is nothing so advanced as to allow you to hide a decent camera in -" one hand waves up and down, motioning at the length of her body - "that lovely dress."

"Oh," Kate says, swaying slightly toward him as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, "you'd be surprised -"

"Rick," he offers, filling in her pause. "I'm Rick."

"Kate."

"I know," he chuckles, hooking a thumb toward the front of the gallery. "They sort of announced it by the door."

Heat rushes through her chest. She'd tried so hard to talk Laurent out of those indulgent portraits for this exact reason. "Yeah -"

"It's a beautiful picture," Rick says, a sincerity in his voice that makes her heart skip a beat. "They all are." He nods toward the walls where her pictures hang. "You have an amazing eye."

Her shoulders lift toward her ears, pulling a blush along with them. "You're too kind."

Warmth caresses the left side of her body as and arm wraps around her shoulders. Soft notes of peppermint and the finest Cuban cigars fill her nose and she feels her body loosen, relaxing into Laurent's fatherly embrace.

"Katherine, do not be so modest when handsome men are complimenting you," he chides, giving her a gentle shake. "You should be proud. Miles and Sophia are green with envy over the attention you and your work are receiving tonight."

Kate shakes her head. "It's not a competition. I just got some lucky shots."

"Lucky shots." Laurent huffs, his arm jostling against her shoulder as his whole body laughs. "There is nothing lucky about your talent. Now are you going to introduce me to your gentleman friend?"

"Oh, we just met, I -" Kate stumbles, the last few minutes having left her out of sorts.

"Rick Rodgers."

"Laurent Renard." Laurent replies, taking Rick's proffered hand in a firm shake.

"Renard?" Rick asks and Kate watches him flex his fingers, working out the red spots dotted across his skin from the pressure of Laurent's grip. "That's French for fox, right? Is this your gallery?"

"Ah, you have found yourself a clever one here, Katherine! It is my gallery indeed. My first in the city." Laurent puffs his chest out like a proud peacock and Kate can't help but duck her head, attempting to hide from what years of Laurent's acquaintance has taught her is coming next. "And I knew the moment I decided to open a gallery in New York that Katherine would have to be one of my very first artists. I discovered her, you know."

"Laurent…" Kate groans as Rick chuckles. Risking a glance through her lashes, she sees him watching her mentor, mouth set in a wide grin.

"What? I did." Laurent dismisses her bashfulness with another squeeze of her shoulders and plows forward with his story. One she's heard a dozen times. One she lived.

"It was on a bridge in Paris, what must it be now, ten, twelve years ago?" He questions and she nods, not bothering to point out that it was almost eleven to the day.

"It was freezing, despite being so close to summer. You remember? That leg of yours must have been killing you in that cold, even though the limp was barely visible by then."

A phantom pain ripples through her left thigh and Kate bends her knee, taking the weight off. She rubs her fingertips across her skirt, tracing the faded scar through the layers of silk and lace.

"She was cursing like a sailor as she battled this old camera," he chuckles, body rocking back and forth as he imitates her. "A film one- back before these digital monstrosities became all the rage. I remember being astonished at the sheer number and creative combinations of vulgarities spilling out of someone so beautiful, even though I should be used to it being from France."

Laurent pauses to laugh again and Kate smiles in spite of herself, risking another look toward Rick, only to find him staring straight back at her this time, his eyes soft with amusement.

"I introduced myself and managed to convince her to let me help her with the film."

"And stopped me from tossing the damn camera into the river," Kate tosses in, giving in to the embarrassment. Laurent loves to share the story of how they met and she, in turn, loves the way his face lights up when he tells it.

"Such a flair for the dramatic this one." His fingers squeeze her bicep and she bumps him with her hip. "When she told me she planned to send her pictures off to some company to have them developed I knew that just would not do. Not after seeing the types of shots she was after. So I invited her back to my studio to help her develop her film."

"More like give me a crash course in the ins and outs of a dark room."

"You were such a naive little thing," Laurent clucks. "Rescuing you from that bridge was certainly the second best decision I have made in my life."

"The first being marrying Simone, of course." Kate finishes for him, the words a routine after all these years.

"Ah, my sweet Simone," Laurent breathes, his pale green eyes misting over at the mention of his late wife. "How I miss her. Pardon me," he says reaching for the checkered handkerchief in his breast pocket. Laurent dabs at his eyes, the ends of his white mustache rustling against the antique cotton.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Rick offers, the corners of his mouth turned down in a sympathetic frown.

"As am I, Richard," Laurent says, his head dipping. "As am I. But enough of these maudlin indulgences," he declares, fluttering the handkerchief in the air before tucking it away in his pocket. "Back to this one." He pulls Kate closer, tucking her into his side. "The moment I saw her work I just knew. Pure, raw talent. With a little training, she was destined to become something. And now here we are."

He turns, smacking a kiss against her temple. "You have far too much talent to have wasted your life in a courtroom, Katherine," Laurent whispers into her hair.

Kate drops her chin and gives him a squeeze. "Merci, Papy."

"Ah, I suppose I must stop showing favorites and go mingle," Laurent sighs as someone calls his name from the other side of the room. "Enjoy this night," he says, fingers pressing hard into the ball of her shoulder. "You have earned the right to be proud of your work."

Kate nods, straightening herself back up. "I'll try."

"Richard." Laurent steps back with a nod. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well," Rick says, his hands safely hidden away in his pockets.

With one last kiss to her cheek, Laurent walks away, his singsong voice floating over the murmuring crowd. "Miles, release that poor journalist this instant."

Kate watches him go, affection welling in her chest.

"Well, he's fun."

Kate laughs. "Yeah, he is. A little crazy but in the best way."

She turns back toward Rick and finds him staring at her with those soft, seeking eyes again. He jumps a little when she catches him, one hand lifting to cover a nervous chuckle as he finds his balance. It's the first time he's shown anything other than smooth confidence and her feet step toward him of their own accord. She really should paste her smile back on and mingle but - she simply doesn't want to.

"Can you tell me a little about your work?" Rick asks, tipping his head toward the wall of photographs. "I don't know much about photography but I'd love to learn."

A renewed confidence blooms in Kate's chest. Work she can talk about.

"Of course. We should start over here." She gestures to the left side of her exhibit and he sweeps his arm out, inviting her to cross in front of him.

The glow of interest in his eyes sends a wave of inspiration flooding through her chest. She tosses out the pre-written talking points she's been hitting all night, the canned comments and soundbites she knows people expect at events like this. Instead she speaks from her heart, allows the raw passion she feels for photography to bubble up in every word.

Rick follows a step behind her as she walks him through her pictures, his eyes flicking back and forth between the her and the art. Kate gesticulates as she talks, her entire body joining in the telling. Her mother has always scolded her for talking with her hands but she can't stop.

Doesn't want to stop with the way he's looking at her.

"You _really_ love photography," Rick says when they circle back around to their starting point, a black and white shot of a little girl jumping off a swing, captured in a moment of weightlessness, her arms spread wide in flight. "It's part of you."

Kate nods, her earlier embarrassment at his admiration gone. "Yeah, I do. It is."

Rick looks up and down the wall again. "Wow.

"What about you?"

"Me?

Kate snags fresh glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands one to him. "Yes. You. What do you do?"

"I'm a writer."

"Really?" The question pops out so quickly that she doesn't have time to even try to hide her intrigue.

"Yes, well, kind of. I'm trying to be, anyway." His shoulders dip, taking the volume of his voice along for the ride. "I teach English at Marlowe Prep during the day and work on the writing in my off time."

"Paying your dues?"

"In a way, I guess." Rick takes a gulp of his drink and she watches his adam's apple bob.

"What do you write?"

"It's not - It's probably nothing you want to hear about."

"Rick," she chides, one hand sweeping down the length of his left forearm. His eyes widen when her fingertips brush along the outside of his hand. "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't interested. I won't force you - I get that sometimes artists just don't want to talk about it - but I do want to know, if you want to tell me."

"If you're sure?"

Kate nods. "I'm sure."

They wander the gallery as he talks, laying out the plot of the mystery novel he's working on, and Kate finds herself hanging on his every word. She asks him questions, tries to get him to tell her about the twist ending he has planned. He makes her laugh, her mind at ease for the first time in too long.

The overhead lights flicker and Kate looks up in surprise. The crowd has thinned considerably, only a handful of people still milling about. The catering staff moves through the room, collecting discarded glasses and plates,and Kate looks at her watch. Over two hours she spent wandering the room with Rick, completely ignoring the rest of the guests.

"Wow," Rick says, looking at his own watch. "I cannot believe I just held you hostage with the plot of my novel for - Oh, Kate," he cuts himself off, eyes going wide. "I'm so sorry. There were probably a dozen other people you should have been talking to."

There were.

She doesn't care.

"Don't apologize," she says, smiling up at him. "You saved me from hours of listening to art snobs debate the merits of bokeh. I should be thanking you, really."

Laurent passes by, a weepy Sophia tucked into his side. He gives her a wink, one finger coming up to brush the side of his nose. "Have a good night, Katherine."

"I suppose that's our cue?" Rick chuckles, the suit jacket he shucked off somewhere in their second hour draped over his forearm.

"Or less than subtle hint," Kate says with a half-hearted roll of her eyes.

"Perhaps we should take it, then?"

Kate hums at him, the ends of her hair brushing across her shoulder blades as she tilts her head to one side. "Perhaps."

" _Perhaps_ you'd like to join me for a cup of coffee? There's a shop a few blocks down that should still be open."

Hope makes his eyes impossibly more blue.

"Coffee sounds great," Kate agrees, excitement rippling across her ribs as his smile grows. "And actually, I know just the place.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Holy shit, she's amazing.

Three days of wild imaginings had done nothing to prepare him for the reality of her. From the moment he'd stepped into the gallery, he'd been drawn to her, pulled into her orbit by the gentle curl of her hair, the serious slant of her mouth, the natural confidence she carried. The embodiment of grace, talent, and intelligence - and at least a solid ten tiers out of his league - Kate Beckett has him hook, line, and sinker.

Rick stands near the front of the gallery, bouncing a little on the spot. Checking his reflection in the large window, he smooths a damp palm over his hair and straightens the collar of his dress shirt. He catches a young kid on the clean up crew smirking at him, black dress pants sagging off his narrow hips.

"Smug little punk," Rick mumbles to himself, slipping back into his blazer. "You'd wet your pants if a woman like her so much as -"

"Hey, you ready to go?"

He startles, spinning to find Kate striding across the room, a heavy canvas bag hanging from her shoulder. A rain jacket covers her lace dress and matching galoshes have replaced her heels. Smiling, she tugs a rubber band from around her wrist and twists her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck.

Amazing and adorable.

"I, yeah. Definitely." He pulls the door open, gesturing her out in front of him with a level of semi-suaveness he's proud of considering his limbs feel like they have been filled with jelly. A woman hasn't left him this out of sorts since - Well, he's actually not sure when.

"So you teach English?" Kate asks as they wind through the streets of Brooklyn, still bustling despite the hour. It's well past his typical weeknight bedtime but the usual rules have gone out the window. Rick knows he'd stay out until dawn and show up to school with sandpaper eyes and fuzz for a brain if it meant he could spend more time with her.

"I do. Juniors and Seniors."

"Oh, that must be interesting."

"Interesting is one word for it," he responds with a chuckle, risking a glance over only to find her smiling as she dodges a puddle. The rain ended some time during the evening, but its legacy persists, hanging in humid pockets of air and puddles on the sidewalk. "Exasperating is another."

Kate chuckles and he wants to pull his phone out and record it, capture the sound of her amusement. "That bad, huh?"

"Nah," he shrugs. "It's not so bad. They're good kids, for the most part."

"If I'm not mistaken, I actually hear a bit of pride in that statement," Kate says, the teasing lilt in her tone accompanied by the quirk of a single eyebrow as she cuts her eyes in his direction.

"There are moments. You know, when a lightbulb goes off and one of them gets it. They'll say something insightful, or they really start grasp the underlying meaning of a classic work of literature, or they write something profound. That's when I know I'm doing something that matters."

Kate hums next to him, this little noise of understanding that makes his fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and take hers. "Makes the struggle worth it."

"Yeah," he agrees, slipping his hands into his pockets instead. "Of course, in the next period some punk will turn in an entire sonnet devoted to the love between a man and his right hand or an Ode to a Flatulence and I am reminded why I fear for the future of our society."

Kate hoots out a laugh and Rick's smile breaks free, his cheeks pushing up until he can feel the corners of his eyes crinkling. They round one last corner and he slows to a stop, eyes sweeping from side to side to take it all in.

"Whoa."

Food trucks and pop-up vendors fill a small parking lot, serving everything from artisan burgers and craft beer to small batch ice cream in exotic flavors to hand roasted coffee drinks in ceramic mugs. An artist's market of food. Strings of twinkle lights and oversized Edison bulbs throw beams across the asphalt and he watches their reflections dance in the puddles of rainwater, hypnotized.

"Is that a _grilled cheese_ truck?" He can hear the awe in his own voice.

"Yeah," Kate laughs, "it is. You want one?"

"As much as it pains me to say so, no. Not right now anyway." He looks down at her, finds her lips curled up in a soft smile. "That answer might change in a minute, though."

"Big fan of grilled cheese?"

"The grilled cheese sandwich has been scientifically proven to be the best of all the sandwiches, Kate."

"Scientifically proven, huh?"

"Yep. It meets and exceeds all the criteria for a perfect sandwich. It's warm, gooey," he says, pulling his hands from his pockets to count off the reasons, "crunchy, and soft. Sweet or savory, simple or elaborate; there are infinite combinations of ingredients. It is the only sandwich meant to be eaten hot that can also be just as satisfying and enjoyable cold." Rick sighs, looking back toward the truck, and she giggles at him. "Perfection."

"Should I give you some some alone time with the grilled cheese truck?"

"Maybe later," he tosses back with a wink. "For now, how about we find that coffee?" Kate nods and they start to walk. "I have lived in Brooklyn for years, how come I never knew about this?"

"Maybe you need to get out more," she responds with a smirk, gesturing to the coffee truck in the distance. "Let's go to that one. They have the best pastries in the borough."

He follows her across the square, suddenly feeling every one of his forty-two years as they dodge a couple of half-dressed twenty-something girls with hula hoops. But Kate - she looks like a happy child, her smile wide and step light. He sees her hand twitching, right index finger tapping almost rhythmically against the side of her bag. He recognizes it, that feeling, that passion- the need to capture a scene before it's gone.

"It's probably bright enough for a few shots," he murmurs, leaning forward until his mouth is next to her ear and the smell of her lavender perfume fills his nose.

Kate spins on the spot and shoves her bag into his chest with both hands. He cradles it on instinct, watching with a grin as she flips the top open and rifles through the contents. Rick catches a high heel shoe and a flowing piece of fabric that he's pretty sure is a skirt in the crook of his elbow as she digs out a digital camera, her fingers already busy pressing buttons and adjusting dials. Bracing a hand on his shoulder, Kate climbs up onto an empty picnic table. Shot after shot she clicks away, her body swaying a little with each snap of the shutter.

He watches her, completely mesmerized. A fresh wave of guilt washes over him as the question that has been plaguing him all evening rises again - how could Johanna Beckett ever possibly believe this woman would need help finding a date?

With a satisfied nod, Kate climbs down. She stuffs her shoe and skirt back into the bag and nestles the camera into the messy wad of cotton. Taking the weight from his arms, she slings the strap over her shoulder again, a faint stain of pink on her cheeks. She nods her head toward the coffee truck and they start walking.

"You get your shot?"

She smiles at him over her shoulder, the green flecks in her hazel eyes dancing. "Yeah, I'll show you after we order."

They step up to the window of the coffee truck and Kate orders first. "Hi, can I have a nonfat latte with two pumps sugar-free vanilla. Oh and one of those, please, " she adds, pointing to one of the the biggest cinnamon rolls he has ever seen. Filling and icing ooze out of it in a sinfully sweet mess that leaves his mouth watering as the barista scrapes it off of the tray and onto a plate. "And whatever he wants too."

"Cappuccino, please," Rick orders, reaching for his wallet but Kate beats him to it, already sliding a crumpled twenty across the metal counter.

"It'll be just a few," the barista says turning his back on them.

"Grab that," Kate says, jutting her chin at the plate as she tugs on the sleeves of her coat.

Affectionate amusement fills in his chest as he watches her spread her jacket - lining up - over the bench of a picnic table. She sits on one side, spinning to swing her legs under the table, and waves a hand at the empty swath of red plaid. "Have a seat."

Rick straddles the bench, one knee brushing tantalizingly close to hers. "And they say chivalry is dead."

Kate rolls her eyes at him, the pink tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. Her bag already open on the table, she pulls out the camera, the lens still snuggled securely in its makeshift bed of skirt. "You wanna see?"

"Of course."

Her thumb rolls over the buttons on the back of the camera, the images on the little preview screen changing rapid fire. Rick picks off a piece of the cinnamon roll and lets out a small moan of delight when the sugar melts on his tongue. "Oh," he says, reaching out to point at the screen, "stop. Look at -"

Kate's hand connects with the back of his in an audible smack. "Don't you dare touch my camera with your sticky fingers," she says, not even looking up at him.

The effort it takes to bite back the innuendo filled retort almost draws blood from his tongue. Kate looks over at him, one brow quirked. Her skin looks somehow shimmery in the golden light of the square and he finds himself wanting to touch it, to see if it's as cool and smooth as it looks. He puts his sticky thumb and index finger in his mouth instead, makes a show of licking off the remnants of sugar and cinnamon. A shadow rolls through her eyes and he swallows.

The clink of porcelain on wood breaks their staring contest. Rick looks up to find the barista watching them, mouth turned down in disgust behind his waxed mustache. "You guys should get a room," he says, one hand fiddling with his suspenders as he turns to walk away. "Nobody wants to see all that."

After a beat of silence, Kate clears her throat. "So, did you want to see the shots I got?"

"Yeah," he croaks, reaching for his coffee and taking a delicate sip. "Show me what your camera sees."

The warmth coming from her body distracts him. He tries to pay attention to the pictures, the way she caught so much in just one snap of the shutter, but he can't. Not completely. Not when all he can think about is how much he'd like to tuck her camera back into her bag and kiss her. Would she'd still taste like champagne from the gallery or has the strong, dark taste of her coffee taken over?

"I think this one is my favorite," Kate says and he blinks, forcing his focus to the three inches between her hands instead of the delicate slope of her neck. A man and a woman - both in their sixties judging by the lines on their faces and grey in their hair - tucked off into one corner of the square, wide smiles splitting their faces as they dance barefoot through a puddle.

"Yeah," he agrees, a story already building in his head about lovers finding each other late in life and deciding to make the most out of every moment. "They look happy."

Kate hums, her thumb hovering over the buttons. "They remind me of my parents," she says, and the rock in his stomach reappears, heavier this time. "My dad's always doing stuff like that. Bringing my mom flowers to ask her on a date night or making her dance with him on a street corner. She puts up a fight most of the time but secretly loves it."

It's his turn to hum. "That's nice," he tells her sincerely. "I'd offer a similar anecdote but the less I know about my mother's love life the better."

Her laugh sounds almost bitter. "I wish my mother felt that way."

"Oh?" His voice trembles on the question and he can almost hear his mother's dismissive scoff at his poor acting abilities.

"She's -" Kate shakes her head, turning the camera off. She doesn't look at him, busying herself instead with organizing the contents of her bag. "She wants things for me that I don't necessarily want. At least not the same way. I know she means well but -"

"You wish she'd back off and let you breathe?"

"Exactly. Anyway," she huffs out a breath, hands still busy rearranging her belongings. "Enough about that. Why don't we -"

"Oh my god." Rick dips his hand into her bag, unable to stop himself. "What the hell is this?"

"It's my phone," Kate scoffs, snatching it back from him.

"No," he laughs. "It's a relic from the ancient past. _This_ -" Rick shifts, pulling his iPhone 5 out of his pocket - "is a phone. Granted it's a couple years old but at least it was manufactured in this century."

"Shut up, this one was made in this century."

"Not in this decade, though."

Kate scowls at him. "Shut up."

"You said that already."

"It bore repeating," she shoots back with a flick of her eyebrow.

"Let me see that thing," Rick says, fighting the ever growing urge to kiss her. "I want to hold a piece of history. Nokia should use you as a real life spokesperson. Proof their phones really do last forever."

"It's a perfectly good phone," she defends, letting him slip the block of plastic from her loose grasp.

"Can it even make calls anymore?" Rick turns the phone over in his hands inspecting the battery and small preview screen before flipping open the cover. "Text?"

"Yes to both, smart ass."

He grins up at her, thumbs pressing in a familiar sequence of numbers on the keypad. "I forget, does this model have an address book?"

Kate purses her lips. "Yes."

"Good," he says, hitting the save button. Grasping the phone by the corner, he holds it out to show her the screen. "Now you have my number."

Her eyes widen and she snatches the phone from him, flipping it shut and shoving it back into her bag. "You're a child," she says, amusement and exasperation making her voice shake.

Hands wrapped around the edges of the bench, Rick leans forward. All night he's fought against it but he can't anymore. His lips brush across the soft skin of her cheek and he hears her breathing stop.

"A child you'd like to see again?" he whispers, his own lungs seeming to shun the intake of air in solidarity with hers.

Seconds drag by and panic rises up in his throat, threatening to bring his coffee and cinnamon roll with it. Rick scoots back, putting more distance between their bodies than there has been all night. "Kate-"

Shaking her head, she unfreezes, swinging her legs out from under the table. Rick stands with her, hands hanging limp against his thighs. She shrugs back into her jacket and hooks her bag over her shoulder. Her hands fidget, teeth gnawing at her lower lip as she looks anywhere but at him.

"Kate, I'm -"

"Look," she says when she finally glances up at him, her eyes lacking the warm playfulness of a few minutes ago. "You're - You're great, Rick. Really. And any woman would be lucky to date you. I'm just - I'm not her, okay? Not right now."

The hem of her coat sways against the backs of her knees as she walks away. He stands next to the empty picnic table and watches her go, something inside his chest cracking.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mid-morning light pours through the oversized windows when she steps out of the dark room. Tears pool in the corners of her eyes and Kate squints against the burn. Her fingers fumble with the curtain tie backs until they finally release, the heavy fabric panels stirring up a breeze as they swing together with a thwump.

Little squiggles of white float through her vision and she blinks, shuffling her way over to the kitchen. Her body moves on autopilot, dazed from hours spent in the dark room. She pours and eats a bowl of cereal at the counter, shoulders hunched and aching. Rolling her neck from side to side, Kate dumps her bowl in the sink, milk sloshing over the edge, and continues through the apartment toward the shower. Maybe some hot water and clean hair will make her human again.

She emerges from her steamy cocoon twenty minutes later, her hair pulled back in a wet braid and her skin slick with lotion. Coffee sits in the pot on the counter and she can't remember when she made it but she pours a cup anyway, pops it in the microwave to reheat. The red light on her answering machine blinks and she presses it with a reluctant thumb, hot mug cradled against her chest.

" _Katie, it's your mother -"_

She hits the button to skip to the next message, unwilling to deal with that particular hornet's nest today.

" _Kate, it's Sophia. I just wanted to let you know that I thought your work at the gallery was amazing. I'd love to get together some time and maybe you can show me some of your tricks? No pressure. Just give me a call back if you want."_

She doesn't move to write down the phone number Sophia rattles off but she does punch the 'save' button for the message. It's been awhile since Kate's had someone to mentor, and Sophia's a good candidate. Eager to learn, if a little green.

" _Katherine, I have not heard from you since the night of the opening and that was a week ago. This is simply unacceptable, my darling. I am worried for you. I must insist that you call me as soon as you listen to this message."_

Dammit. Kate picks up the cordless house phone, the plastic bulky and cool in her palm. She's been on a binge since the opening, doing nothing but shooting all day and developing through the night. Twelve spent rolls of black and white and five of color have piled up in the garbage can of her dark room. She's almost out of developer but the need still burns in her veins, turning her to ashes from the inside out. She taps in the number for Laurent's office phone and waits, the dial tone too loud in her ears after days of nothing but soft music and ambient noise.

"Laurent Renard."

"Laurent, it's Kate."

"Katherine!" He exclaims and Kate pulls the phone away from her ear. "You are alive. Genevieve," he proclaims to the assistant who must be sitting in her usual chair next to his desk, "Katherine lives. You may strike calling the police from your to do list for this afternoon." A murmur she can't make out buzzes down the line and Laurent laughs. "Yes, I believe you are correct that she would have killed us both."

Tucking the phone into the crook of her neck, Kate smiles and sinks down into the oversized red chair next to her desk. She sips at her coffee as she listens to Laurent and Genevieve prattle to one another, pulling her feet up onto the cushion. Her eyelids flutter and she scrubs at them with her free hand. She hasn't really slept in over a week and the missed hours seem to hit her all at once.

"My darling," Laurent says, his attention back on her, "you cannot disappear in that way. I was next to myself with worry. I almost called your mother."

"I'm sorry. Truly. I've just been -"

"Tied up with that lovely man from the opening? Because if that is the case, then I forgive you fully."

"I've been working," Kate tells him, the skip in her chest betraying the forced flatness of her tone.

"Not spending hour after delicious hour in bed with Handsome Richard?"

Kate sighs. Sometimes she really wishes Laurent wasn't quite so French. "No."

"And why not?" Laurent clucks at her and she can hear the ice in his glass tinkling. "I watched you with him, Katherine. You were smitten. As was he."

Putting her coffee on the side table, Kate curls in on herself, one arm looping around her shins. "I needed to work."

Laurent clicks his tongue. "You needed to hide."

"I -"

"You forget that I know you, ma cherie. This is what you do. You are scared of being hurt again and so you run away. You hide behind your camera so you do not have to show your true heart to the world."

"Laurent, it's not -

"Did you not like him? Did you not enjoy his company?"

"No, I did. He was - " Her cheek still burns with the phantom press of his lips. "Rick was great. It's just not the right time."

"There is never a right time for love," Laurent tells her, a softness in his voice that makes her feel like a child. "Do you not want love in your life, my darling?"

Kate lets her head fall against the back of the chair. "I do."

"Then you must put the fear aside. Let the love find you. Though I believe it has already done so."

A dry laugh passes through her chest. "You think so, huh?"

"Katherine, I am an old man from France," Laurent declares and she laughs again, her shoulders loosening. "I know love when I see it."

"You met him for five minutes," she reminds him, reaching again for her coffee. Her nose wrinkles at the smell and she puts it back on the table. Maybe she's done with the coffee for today. "And you barely let him speak."

"Ah, but I saw the way he looked at you, trailing behind you like a puppy while you talked about your work. I saw that same look in the mirror for forty years. There is something there. And -" Laurent drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper- "I saw the way you looked at him, Katherine. I would have to have been a blind man to miss it."

Kate lets out a slow breath, everything she's spent the past seven days avoiding rushing through her head at once. "Yeah," she agrees, "I guess you would have." That's the problem.

A loud clap comes down the line and she can see Laurent slapping his hands together in joy. "Good! Now, go find the man and ask for his forgiveness. Grovel if you must, though not too terribly much. You are much too pretty to beg, after all."

Kate laughs. "Maybe later," she says. "Right now I need to sleep."

"Sleep is for children and the infirm," Laurent tells her and she laughs again, her whole body shaking with the release of it.

"Well, I feel like the latter and will turn into the former if I don't get at least a couple of hours," she rebuts, unfolding herself from the chair, the muscles of her back and shoulders screaming in protest.

"I have your promise that you will talk to Handsome Richard when you awaken?"

"You have my promise that I'll think about it."

"Well, I suppose if that is the best you can do, I will take it. Sleep well, Katherine."

"Bye, Laurent," she says, clicking off the phone and dropping it into the charging station.

Her feet carry her to her unmade bed without a command from her brain. She collapses onto the mattress and pulls the sheet around herself, eyes closed before her head even hits the pillow. She sleeps through the afternoon and into the night, blue eyes and a deep baritone laugh filling her dreams.

* * *

The aisles feel endless. Kate drops the bag of avocados into her basket without bothering to even check the price. She just needs to get this done and get out. Grocery stores, with the too bright fluorescent lights and the overcrowded shelves and the sea of strangers, make her palms sweat. Cooking, she loves. Collecting the necessary items needed to cook, not so much. But she promised her father a home cooked meal during their phone call that morning and so here she is, toting a basket full of ingredients for his favorite enchiladas.

Rounding the corner, she swallows back a groan as she comes face to face with a sample station manned by a smiling employee offering shots of chilled tomato soup to go with gourmet bite-sized grilled cheese sandwiches. Turning on her heel, Kate speeds past a display of wine, snagging a random bottle from the shelf before heaving her basket onto the first check out counter.

All week, she's been inundated with it. With _him_. A barista shouting out a coffee order for Richard, a man waiting for the subway with floppy brown hair and soft blue eyes, a flyer for a mystery writer's workshop. Less than four hours she spent with him and yet he was everywhere.

Kate thanks the cashier with a nod and loops the handle of the reusable grocery bag over her shoulder. Her eyes stay glued to the sidewalk as she walks the two blocks back to her apartment, her canvas clad feet slapping against the pavement. Digging to the bottom of her bag in search of her keys, she brushes up against the smooth edges of her cell phone instead. She pulls it out, the plastic cool in her palm.

Her teeth worry over her bottom as she stands on the sidewalk outside her building, knuckles turning white around the phone. With a growl she shoves it back into her purse and fishes out the keys. Kate lets herself into the building and trudges up the stairs, pushing her phone and the newest entry in its address list to the back of her mind.

She doesn't allow herself to think about it. Not while she puts away her groceries. Not while she makes herself a quick cheese and cracker snack. Not while she wanders her apartment gathering up all the dirty laundry that somehow never seems to make it into the basket on the first try.

She's still not thinking about it when she finally locates her bottle of laundry detergent under her bed of all places, and she's definitely _not_ thinking about it when she grabs her cell phone out of her bag and shoves it into the pocket of her skirt on her way out the door.

The sweet scent of fabric softener fills the hallway outside her building's laundry room. Kate holds the door open for Mr. Brindley, smiling as the little old man tucks a couple of quarters into her laundry basket in thanks. She finds a free machine and starts emptying her load in, her mind too preoccupied with not thinking to pay attention to the mix of colors and whites.

Her mother thinks she's opposed to relationships and love. But she's not. Not even close. She _loves_ love. The way a bride and groom look at each other as they exchange vows, young couples in the park cuddled on a blanket, her parents dancing to silent music in the corner of their living room. It all appeals to her in ways she can never find words for.

It also scares the hell out of her.

Ignoring the weight of the phone in her pocket, Kate makes her way back upstairs. Her homemade enchilada sauce simmers on the stove, filling her apartment with the rich warmth of chiles. She turns on her stereo, swaying back and forth across the kitchen as she prepares the rest of the meal.

Joan Armatrading's voice floats out the speakers, singing delicately about being open to persuasion, and Kate lets out a quiet groan. She takes the phone out of her pocket and tosses it back into her bag. Nope. Not gonna happen, Joan.

Her dad arrives two hours later just as she's carrying her basket full of clean, folded laundry up from the basement. She lets him in the building with a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"You're really leaning into this whole retirement thing, aren't you?" Kate asks, brushing the pad of her thumb over the coarse hair. "I don't think I've ever seen you go this long without a shave."

"Your mother hates it," Jim laughs as he tries to pry the laundry basket from her hands. Kate fights him, tugging it closer into her side. He gives up with a sigh. "She says I look like a vagabond."

"No Mom talk, remember? That was the deal," Kate says as they make their way up the stairs to her apartment. "I'll feed you and tell you about the show, but - "

"Katie," he cuts in, a weariness in his voice that she hates, "I'm not here as your mother's intermediary. I just want to hear about the opening."

"And eat my famous enchiladas."

"Well that goes without saying."

Kate chuckles, pushing open the door to her apartment. She drops the laundry basket on the floor, pushes it up against the wall with one foot. "You want some wine? I got a bottle of - well, I'm not really sure what- at the store earlier."

Her dad hums out an agreement and she pours them both a glass. They eat dinner perched on mismatched stools around the rolling island her mother bought and snuck in one weekend while Kate was out of town shooting a wedding. Johanna had been insistent that Kate needed some type of a table for entertaining guests. Mostly it goes ignored but it is useful at times like these, otherwise they'd be eating dinner on the floor.

She tells him about the show, leaving out strategic details about tall men with kind eyes and soft smiles. He may not be there as a spy, but that doesn't mean she's willing to take the risk. Knowing her mother, she'd trick the story out of her father, track Rick Rodgers down, and bring the man to her door with a big red bow taped to his chest.

"So it sounds like it went well then?"

Kate swallows the last of her dinner, wiping at the corner of her mouth with a dish towel. "Yeah, I think it did. Laurent left me a message earlier about someone expressing interest in buying a couple of them."

"Katie, that's wonderful," her dad exclaims, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

She shrugs, heat blooming in her cheeks. "It's just an inquiry, Dad. Nothing's final."

"But it will be," Jim says with a nod. "Do you know which ones?"

Kate shakes her head. "Laurent wouldn't tell me. He said he wanted it to be a surprise. I think he just wants to torture me."

Jim laughs. "I'm sure it's a combination of the two, knowing Laurent."

"Probably," Kate says, getting up to clear the dishes. She stacks everything in the sink, waving off Jim's offer to help clean up. "I'll get to it later," she tells him. "I thought you might like to see some of the shots I got this week?"

"I'm offended you even phrased that as a question, Katie."

Laughing, Kate brings him the stack of prints from her desk. "I went a little crazy with them this week. These are the good ones."

"All your pictures are good pictures," Jim mumbles as he takes the prints from her and starts to look through them, the reassurance tumbling free out of habit.

Kate sips at her wine as her father makes his way through the stack. He reacts to each picture; a hum, a lift of a brow, a raspy chuckle. When he sucks in a sharp breath, she knows exactly which one he's looking at.

"Please tell me you were wearing some kind of safety harness for this one."

He holds the picture up, fingers pinching one corner, elbows resting on the wooden tabletop. She doesn't need to see it but looks anyway. The windows and fire escape of the skyscraper wind down in a dizzying spiral and a heated rush of blood crashes through her head from the memory alone. Standing on the edge of the rusty platform, her bare toes curled around a metal bar and hair whipping in wind, the adrenaline had slammed through her veins as she leaned out, the creaking railing pressing hard against her thighs. One good gust and she would have tumbled to the pavement twenty stories below.

She shakes her head. "It was a spur of the moment thing."

Jim turns the picture back around, staring at it. "I'm torn between loving this and wanting to throttle you for even trying to take it."

"Go with your first instinct," she tells him with a chuckle.

"Your mother can never see this one."

"Not gonna argue with you on that."

He puts the picture at the back of the stack and cycles through the rest. She lets him pick out a couple of favorites to take home and put in his own copy of her portfolio. The skyscraper comes back up to the top and Jim lingers over it again, a furrow forming between his brows.

"I've always admired that about you."

"What?"

"Your fearlessness. Or rather," he amends, "your refusal to let your fears control you. You've been scared of heights since you were just a little bitty thing and yet here you are," he taps his nail in the center of the image, "pushing yourself through it in order to get this shot. Taking the risk because you knew the reward would be worth it."

"I didn't know," she admits. "I was shaking so much that I almost dropped the camera. It could have turned out a blurry mess. I just pressed the button and hoped."

"Which makes the risk even more admirable," Jim says, pushing back from the island. He slips his stack of pictures into the front pocket of his shirt, the skyscraper right on the top. "Even without a guarantee of success, you faced your fear and you tried. I know you don't want to hear this, but you get that from your mother."

"Not from you?"

"Hell no," he tells her and she laughs. "I'm a chicken. Why do you think she had to propose to me?"

They walk to the door and Kate hugs him, pressing another kiss to his cheek. "Being cautious isn't being a chicken."

"I almost cautioned my way out of the two best things that ever happened to me, Katie. You and your mother." He slides open the door and steps out into the hall. "And then where would I be? Nowhere good."

"I love you, Dad," Kate tells him, squeezing his hand.

He squeezes back. "Love you too, Katie-bug."

"Don't show Mom that shot," she calls after him as he starts down the hall. "I don't want to have to go into Witness Protection."

Jim laughs and heads down the stairs with a wave. She watches until the top of his grey head disappears before rolling the door shut and leaning against it. Her gaze falls on the canvas heap on the counter and before she can talk herself out of it, Kate pushes off the door.

The phone feels heavier than normal. She flips open the cover and opens the address book, the clammy pad of her thumb pressing on the down arrow until she reaches the Rs. Taking a deep breath, she hits the call button.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Fo-

"Hello?"

"Rick? It's Kate."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter7

The tension melts from his shoulders as soon as he hears the tinkling bell over the door of the cafe. Rick takes a deep breath, his lungs expanding to their full capacity for the first time in eight days. Brenda smiles at him from behind the counter and his cheeks pull up in return.

"Been a while, Rick."

He nods and shrugs at the same time and his computer bag slides from his shoulder. He catches it with one hand, heart pounding. He hasn't been himself since the night at the gallery. "Yeah," Rick replies, trying to pull it together. "The last few weeks of school are always crazy."

They are but that's not why he hasn't been here. He's been - well, hiding is what his mother calls it but he prefers avoiding. Grown men do not hide.

"Well, I'm glad to have you back," Brenda tells him, already pulling out a mug and turning toward the espresso machine. "You want your usual?"

"Yes, please." He pulls out his wallet but she waves him off.

"Prodigal sons get their first returning drink on the house," she tells him with a wink. "Go sit. I'll bring it out in just a minute."

Rick thanks her with a dip of his chin before striding through the cafe, not sparing a glance at the few patrons scattered around random tables. His fingers tingle with the need to write, a feeling he's missed in during the past week. He slips into his usual seat and pulls out his laptop, muscles jumping in anticipation.

Inspiration comes and goes as it pleases but only in few sacred spaces has he been able to tap into it at will. The second booth from the back at his favorite college bar, the office in his old apartment where the light was just right. He can write anywhere but the good stuff, the stuff he can read without wanting to vomit, that only comes from one of those elusive, magical places. Writing Narnia.

He spent seven days searching for a new doorway. Somewhere else that would allow him to open his brain and let the words spill free. The Starbucks two blocks down from his apartment had been too busy, the library too quiet. He tried a bar, a Panera, the designated writers' space at an independent book store. Nothing. None of them worked. None of them were here.

Brenda's, nestled between shops just around the corner from the bustle of the avenue, has been perfect from the start. Just the right balance of chatter and ambient noise, customers passing through in a steady stream - some staying to sit and sip their drink at one of the tables, others leaving as quickly as they arrive. The espresso machine gurgles and spits, forming a chaotic rhythm section with the clank of the dishwasher and thump of the swinging door that leads to the kitchen. As much as he tried to fight it, he is Goldilocks and Brenda's cafe is the only place that's just right.

Porcelain clatters against the table and Ricks looks up to find Brenda smiling down at him. "It's good to see you, Rick," she tells him, one hand cupping his shoulder. "I was starting to worry."

Warm affection blooms inside his chest as he reaches up to pat the hand on his shoulder. "It's good to see you too," he tells her, dropping his hand back down to the keyboard. "Sorry I worried you."

Brenda accepts his apology with a smile and a nod. "I see you're about to vibrate out of your skin, so I'll leave you to it."

His fingers press the keys before she even finishes the sentence. The cursor flies across the screen and Rick feels eight days worth of frustration leak from his body with each tap of the space bar. The cafe fades away until all he know is the page, the characters and the world he's building.

The table rocks and he barely has time to jerk his hands out of the way before the lid of his laptop slams down.

"What the hell?" He spits looking up to find Johanna Beckett staring down at him with pinched lips. "Why did you do that?"

"I'll ask the questions," Johanna says, one hand planted on her hip. "Where have you been for the past week?" Rick cuts his eyes toward the counter and Johanna shakes her head. "Brenda didn't snitch," she tells him with a roll of her eyes and he feels his stomach clench at the memory of watching Kate make the same face. "I've been stopping in every evening to try to catch you. What happened? Did you go to the show? Did you meet Katie?"

She fires the questions at him in quick succession and Rick has to fight the urge to crawl under the table.

"Yes, I met her."

" _And_?"

"And what happened to you leaving me alone if I went and nothing happened?"

Johanna raises an eyebrow at him. "Did _nothing_ happen, Richard?"

He wants to lie. Wants to tell her he hasn't been thinking about her daughter and how soft her cheek felt against his lips. Wants to tell her he hasn't thought every day about just showing up to the gallery and hoping to catch her, no matter how insane it made him seem. Wants to tell her that he hasn't spent countless hours replaying that night and trying to figure out exactly what the hell went wrong.

But he can't.

"Not nothing," he confesses, opening the lid of his laptop to save his work.

Johanna drops down into the chair across from him and lets out a tiny sigh. "So, if 'not nothing' happened then why have you been avoiding the cafe and me by extension. Unless - " a light flashes behind her eyes - "the 'not nothing' is that you've spent the last week with Katie?"

Rick shakes his head. "No. It was a great night. Kate was lovely and her exhibit was phenomenal. It just didn't work out."

"Why?"

Dear God, she's relentless.

"It just didn't. I don't know what else to tell you."

"Walk me through it." Johanna leans forward to plant her elbows on the table and he can imagine her doing the same thing in a courtroom, coaxing the truth out a reluctant witness "I know my daughter. Tell me what happened and I'll tell you what went wrong."

Giving up all hope of getting more writing done, Rick shuts down his computer. He'll just have to stay twice as long tomorrow. "I'm not going to do that, Johanna," he says, packing away his charger and laptop. "You might not respect your daughter's privacy, but I do."

"Now just a minute," Johanna says, leaning over the table, a fire in her eyes. "Where the hell do you get off telling me I don't respect my daughter?"

"I didn't say that."

"You just did."

"No, what I said was that you don't respect her privacy. Look," Rick runs a hand through his hair, scratches at the back of his head, trying to pick loose from his brain the words he needs, "I really enjoyed meeting Kate. We had some great conversation and a good cup of coffee but -"

"Coffee? So, you left the gallery together."

Rick groans. He should know better by now than to give this woman even the tiniest of crumbs. "Yes, we left together. We had coffee. We talked, I gave her my number, she left. End of story."

"Meaning, you gave her your number but instead of giving you hers, she ran away," Johanna summarizes.

"How did you…?" Had she followed them? He wouldn't put it past her.

"I told you, Rick, I know my daughter." Johanna smirks and holds out her hand, fingers wiggling. "Here, give me your phone and I'll put her number in. Sometimes she just needs that extra push."

"Johanna, stop. Please," he begs and she sits back, her shoulders dropping. "Why can't you just let this go?"

"Because I want my daughter to be happy."

"She doesn't need me for that. She's already happy."

"I suppose she is," Johanna concedes and his stomach clenches. "But I think that you could make her _happier_. The kind of happy she deserves. That you both deserve."

"You barely know me."

"I know enough," Johanna says, the tone of her voice leaving no room for argument. "I know you and Katie can make each other better."

Rick stands with a sigh, hooking his computer bag over one shoulder. "I appreciate the vote of confidence," he replies, pulling out a his wallet and dropping a five dollar bill on the table, unable to accept Brenda's generosity. "Really. And you may be right, but there's nothing I can do about it. Kate has my number. If she's interested, she can call me. I'm not going to force my way into her life."

"Stop being stubborn and - " Johanna starts just as his cell rings.

He tunes out the rest of her rant as he fishes the phone out of the front pocket of his bag and checks the number on the screen. It's New York area code but he doesn't recognize the rest. Holding up a finger of pause to Johanna, he ignores her protest and swipes his thumb across the screen. At this point he's willing to accept even the canned spiel of a telemarketer as a way out of this conversation.

"Hello?"

"Rick? It's Kate."

The floor tilts underneath his feet and he really wishes he was still sitting. "Hi."

"Hi," she returns and his heart flutters in time with her nervous titter of a laugh. "Is this a bad time?"

"Not at all," Rick lies through the silly little smile spreading across his lips. He really hopes she can't somehow deduce from the waver in his voice that he's currently standing three feet away from her scowling mother. Johanna opens her mouth and he waves his hand at her. "It's good to hear from you, Kate."

Johanna's eyes go wide and she pops up out of her chair, sending it clattering to the floor. He steps to the side and glares at her.

"You're not busy?" Kate asks, her voice small with uncertainty. "I can -"

"No, no," he cuts in, starting toward the door, Johanna following in his wake. "I was at a coffee shop doing some writing but I'm just about to leave."

"You're sure?" she asks again and he wonders what happened to the self-assured woman he met last week.

"Yeah, Kate, I'm sure. How have you been?"

"Well," she drawls and he can hear the beginnings of a grin in the drawn out syllable, "I've been feeling kind of stupid actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she says, the strength coming back into her voice. "See, I met this guy. He was really great - amazing, even - and he asked me out."

The muggy New York night presses down on him when he steps outside and sweat immediately beads at the small of his back. "Really? And what'd you say?"

"Well, that's where the stupid comes in. I turned him down."

"He must have been heartbroken," Rick says, smile widening even as Johanna pulls up next to him, her face a question.

"You think so?"

"Devastated," he assures her, leaning against the side of the building.

"Too devastated to accept an apology and maybe agree to see me again?"

Tapping into his barely existent acting skills, Rick lets out a ponderous hum. "Well, I think he might be persuaded. If you agree to let him plan the date, that is."

"Let him reassert his manliness?"

"Something like that." Really he just knows the perfect place to take her. He can already imagine the look on her face, the pictures she'll want to take.

"Friday night?" Kate asks and the pure delight in her voice makes him want to dance a jig right there on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I think Friday night is perfect for him."

"Do you want my address?"

He lets out a mock-scandalized gasp, his free hand flying to his chest. "But what about the poor devastated man, Kate? Would you really be so cruel as to break his heart twice?"

Kate laughs, the real one he's already half in love with. "I think he'll get over it."

"Over you? Never."

"I'll text you my address," she says and he can almost hear her eyes rolling.

"Perfect. And Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you called."

Her sigh sends the butterflies in his stomach into riotous flight. "Me too, Rick."

The line goes dead before he gets a chance to tell her goodbye. Rick stares down at the phone, hopeful joy welling up inside his chest. A throat clears behind him and he turns to find Johanna looking at him, arms crossed over her chest and one foot tapping with impatience.

"Well?"

"I have a date with your daughter," he tells her, his cheeks aching with the width of his smile. "Friday night."

* * *

His palms sweat as he double checks the address in her perfectly structured, grammatically correct text against the polished numbers posted on the brick facade of the building. Sucking in a calming breath, Rick reaches out to press the buzzer.

"Hello?" Her voice crackles across the line and his tongue grows thick in his mouth. He really needs to get over this speechlessness around her. "Rick?"

"Yeah… yes. It's Rick." He cringes and resists the urge to bang his head against the bricks as her light laughter echoes out of the tinny speaker.

"Come on up. Take the stairs. The elevator is a potential health hazard."

The door buzzes and Rick forces himself to continue to breathe. He's forty-two, not fourteen. A girl - woman - hasn't affected him this much since he had a face full of pimples and wanted to ask Kim Foster to Homecoming. He gives himself a mental shake as he trudges up the flight of stairs, running his hands through his hair before wiping them against his pants. He needs to pull it together.

Stepping out into the second floor hall, he lets out a low whistle. Exposed ducts and pipes run along the ceiling and the floor is nothing more than polished cement dotted with the occasional welcome mat under rolling barnwood doors. His fingers tingle with unwritten words. This is where an artist lives.

The door to 2D stands ajar, but he knocks anyway even as he pokes his head through the crack. "Kate?"

"Hey! Come on in." Her voice answers from somewhere in the depths of the apartment and he pushes on the door, squeezing through the narrow gap when it refuses to open any farther.

"Oh, sorry about that," Kate continues and he looks up to find her bracing a hand against the kitchen island as she slips a leopard print ballet flat onto her foot. "It sticks."

She's completely different than she had been at the opening. Gone are the heels and cocktail dress, replaced with a colorful scarf wound around her hair like a headband, a tank top and flowing skirt. He hadn't thought it possible but now he's falling her for even harder than before. She is just so completely and authentically _Kate_.

"No problem," he replies, patting a hand against his stomach. "I spent time training to be a contortionist as a child."

"Seriously?"

"No," he says, letting his face fall into a faux pout. "I wanted to but my mother wouldn't pay for the class."

Kate laughs, shaking her head. "I'll be right back, just need to grab my bag."

He wanders through the studio apartment as she disappears behind an ornate Chinese screen. An array of knickknacks litter the shelves and eclectic art decorates the walls surrounding the overstuffed furniture. Nothing matches and yet everything goes. He picks a Rubik's Cube up off a shelf, fiddling with it as he continues to walk.

"Okay, I'm ready," Kate says from behind him, and he turns to find her slinging a canvas bag across her body.

"What's in there?" He points at the revolving door tucked into the corner of the space, unable to contain his curiosity.

"Oh, that's where I store the bodies," she deadpans, taking the puzzle from him and putting it back on the shelf.

He grins at her. "Can I see?"

"Maybe later," she giggles.

"Really, what's in there?" He takes a step closer to the door, sniffing at the faint chemical odor hanging around the seal.

"It used to be a closet," Kate says, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. "Now it's a darkroom."

"You have your own darkroom? That is so cool."

"Well, if you haven't noticed, film photography is a dying art. If I didn't have my own, I'm not sure where I could even go to get anything developed anymore. Not with any sort of speed, anyway."

She punctuates the statement with a roll of her eyes, and Rick once again can't help but note the similarities between her and Johanna. But facial expressions seem to be where those similarities end and for that he can't even begin to express his gratitude.

"You really love it," he says, her passion bowling him over once again.

"I do," she nods, the smile that appears whenever she talks about her work making her eyes light up. "Digital is great. It's convenient. But there's just something about film. It feels more personal. I have to put in the work to get the result." Kate steps past him, one hand lifting to caress the darkroom door. "Developing is a long, finicky process that takes a lot of patience but then you finish and -"

A shyness rolls over her face, extinguishing the light. She steps back from the door and dips her chin. "Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away talking about it and forget how boring it is to other people."

"It's not boring," he says, wishing she could see herself through his eyes. Rick takes a step toward her, his palms sweating again. "I love listening to people talk about their passions."

Kate looks up at him through her lashes and swallows. "I'll remember that."

"Good."

They stare at each other, the seconds ticking by, and he wants so very much to close the space between them. To take her face in his hands and press his lips to the curve of hers.

"We -" Her voice cracks and she clears her throat. "We should probably go. Don't want to be late for whatever it is you have planned."

"Right. Yes." Rick jumps, pulling his phone out to check the time. "We do have a timetable. Oh," he snaps his fingers, "you should bring a camera."

Eyes never leaving his, Kate reaches into her bag and pulls out a smaller version of the digital camera she had the night they met. "Like I would ever leave home without one."

"I am ashamed I even entertained the idea," he says, following her across the apartment and out into the hallway.

The soles of her shoes pat quietly against the cement as they make their way down the steps of the subway. Kate slips her camera out while they wait for the train, taking covert pictures of the crowd milling about the platform. He watches, content to observe and point out potential shots.

"Look at the old man," he whispers, hooking his thumb at a suited elderly gentleman, a bouquet of daisies clutched in his wrinkled hands. "First date?"

Kate snaps the picture with a hum. "No. Last date."

"Last date?"

"Yeah," she says, her voice low as she leans closer and shows him a close up shot of the man's face. "Look at the sadness in his eyes. He's on his way to say goodbye, not hello."

The train screams into the station and she tucks the camera back into her bag before he can even begin to find his words. All he can do is stare.

* * *

"You're taking me to your job on our first date?"

Rick chuckles, a hand hovering at the the small of her back as he ushers her up the cement staircase and into the deserted front hallway. A banner announcing the sale of senior trip tickets hangs over the entrance to the front office, the tropical theme somehow even more gaudy in the dusky light of sunset.

"Second date," he corrects and she gives him a tiny smile over her shoulder. "And no. Well, yes. But no."

"Thanks for clearing that up for me," she laughs and he presses his palm to her back, the heat of her skin burning him even through her shirt.

"Just trust me. You're gonna love this."

He takes the tremble at the corner of her mouth as his answer. A chaotic symphony of shouts and bangs greets them as they turn the corner. Rick guides her past the closed ticket booth - student made posters for the play plastered across the front - to the side entrance of the auditorium. Even over the wall of noise that hits them when he pulls open the door, he can still hear her shallow gasp.

Sets fill the massive stage, the fresh paint shining under the hot lights. A set of velvet carpeted stairs extends up into an ornate carved door, gold sconces mounted to the wall on either side. A faux storefront hangs half out of the wings, the clapboard painted beige to look aged. Costumed students roam around the stage, running lines and singing random bars of music.

" _Whoa_ ," Kate breathes as the heavy metal door clangs shut behind them.

"Yep."

"All of this for a high school production of _Hello! Dolly_ ?" She asks, hand already sneaking into her bag. "How?"

"Rich parents," he laughs. "Really, insanely rich parents."

Every detail of the play and set design had been meticulously planned and implemented, from the real plants ordered from one of the best nurseries in the city to the intricate set pieces and ornate, era specific costumes from the two-thousand nine Broadway revival. Rich parents equals contacts and Marlowe Prep never lets a good connection go to waste.

Kate walks down the aisle toward the stage, her fingers fiddling with the buttons on her camera. He trails behind her, watching. She snakes her way through the empty orchestra pit, kneeling down and climbing on chairs to get the angles she wants. Kate looks back at him, a grin spreading her cheeks wide.

"You think I can go up?"

He nods. "Go for it."

She slips up the side entrance and he has to hold back a chuckle when she lays down on her stomach, her arms and torso forming a tripod as she continues to click away.

"Mr. Rodgers, I'm going to assume by the disgustingly drippy look on your face that you are acquainted with the woman currently sprawled across my stage?"

"You assume correctly," Rick says, tearing his eyes away from Kate to look over at Mrs. King, the curmudgeonly drama teacher, her teeth permanently stained bright red with lipstick and her floral print blouse clashing loudly with her plaid skirt.

She huffs at him. "If anything falls on her, the school will not be held liable."

Rick laughs and she fixes him with a stare that has the dusting of hair on the back of his neck prickling to attention.

"I am serious, Mr. Rodgers."

"Got it," he nods, walking toward the stage. "Marlowe Prep isn't responsible for any bodily injury that might befall my date."

He mounts the steps just as Kate stands. She straightens her rumpled shirt, a sheepish grin curling the corners of her lips.

"I've been informed that the school won't pay if Vandergelder's Hay and Feed falls on your head," he tells her, pointing at the store set. Kate chuckles, the camera still clutched in her hand.

"Sorry. Sometimes I just get a little -" She wiggles her fingers in the air and he nods.

"I get it," he tells her. He really does. "I sometimes lose whole weekends to writing. I sit down on Saturday morning and the next thing I know, it's Monday and I have to come here and attempt to mold young minds."

"Hey, Mr. Rodgers!"

A call comes from the top of a ladder on the far side of the stage, and they turn in tandem to see a hand attached to the lanky arm of Jackson Carter waving down at them.

"Would the be one of those young minds?" Kate asks, her lips curling into a small smirk as the teenager scrambles down the steps and lopes over to them, his limbs still too long for his body.

"Yes, yes it would," Rick confirms as he watches Jackson try and fail to avert his gaze from Kate. He totally can't blame the kid. "How's it going, Jack? You enjoying being part of the play?"

"It's alright," Jackson shrugs. "Not as good as that one we did in class though."

Kate looks over at him, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead."You put on a production of Hello, Dolly! in class?"

Rick shakes his head. "No, though that's an idea for next year," he says as Jackson lets out a groan. "It was the start of my Austen unit so we did -"

" _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ ," Jackson cuts in, his cheeks blossoming red when Kate looks toward him. "It was cool. It wasn't the whole thing but Mr. Rodgers brought in zombie makeup and fake blood and let us act out the super gory parts." He looks around the stage, a wistful sheen in his eyes. "This one would be so much cooler with some blood."

"Mister Carter," Mrs. King's voice hisses above the buzz of the students clamoring around the stage. He and Jackson both freeze and the flash of Kate's camera goes off, capturing what he can only assume to be twin petrified expressions.

Jackson spins around, his lanky frame folding in on itself like an origami crane under the sharp gaze of Mrs. King. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Do you not have lights to adjust?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jackson repeats, turning to throw a sheepish smile at Rick. "See you Monday, Mr. Rodgers," he says before stumbling back up stage and ascending his ladder.

Rick's farewell wave halts in mid air as Mrs. King fixes him again with that stony stare.

"We'll just -" he points at the stairs with one hand while reaching for Kate's wrist with the other. "We'll just go wait outside until it's time for the opening curtain."

"That sounds like a _splendid_ idea to me," Mrs. King agrees, every syllable dripping with sarcasm.

He can hear Kate giggling behind him as he tugs her across the stage and down the stairs.

"Just for that, Monday's class is totally going to play host to the premiere production of _Hello,Dolly!: The Undead_." Rick grumbles under his breath once they reach the safety of the lobby.

"More zombies?" Kate asks, a smile cracking through her attempt at a straight face as her body cants into to his.

"Nah, too over done," he huffs, his own smile peeking through. "Mummies."

* * *

A light breeze lifts the hair on the back of his neck as they stroll through the park. Rick crumples up the paper from his hot dog and tosses it at a garbage can, mentally cheering when it clears the rim. Kate's skirt brushes against his pant leg and he flexes his hand against his thigh, unable to resist temptation any longer.

He slips his fingers between hers, curling them over until their palms kiss. With a quiet sigh, Kate leans into him. Her shoulder presses against his bicep, thumb making a lazy circle around the base of his.

"I cannot get over how good that was," she says, interrupting her hummed medley of songs from the show. "Those kids were amazing."

Rick nods, trying to force his attention away from the press of her body against his. "Yeah, the school is sort of renowned for its Drama department."

"I can see why. There were some great actors in that group. And singers."

"And if there hadn't been, I'm sure you would have been able to fill in," he teases, squeezing her fingers. "Based on the way you were singing from your seat, that is."

A pink stain, barely visible under the yellow light of the sidewalk lights, creeps up her neck.

"I have a thing for musicals," she says, her chin dropping.

"And with a voice like that, you should. If the whole photography thing doesn't work out, you could totally make it in that business they call show."

Kate hums her dissent, fingers tightening around his in return. "I'd rather be behind the lens than in front of it. But you were doing some pretty skilled singing yourself," she continues. "Maybe _you_ should head for the Great White Way."

Rick shakes his head. "They're both lefties," he says, pointing at his loafered feet. "I'd be laughed off the stage by the end of the first eight count."

His arm jerks back as Kate comes to a stop. Rick turns, the smile he hasn't been able to put away all night widening in response to hers. She tugs on his hand, pulling him closer. Mischief sparkles in her hazel eyes and he watches as she pushes her bag off her hip, swinging it around to rest at the small of her back.

"Put your hand on her waist and stand," Kate quotes from the play, reaching for his free hand with hers and lifting it to rest on the spot vacated by her bag. Sliding up to grip his bicep, she brings their clasped hands to chest height, unlacing their fingers to switch to a traditional dance hold. "With her right hand in your left."

"That's your left and my right," he says and she gives him a half-hearted roll of her eyes.

"This is not the time to be pedantic, Rick. I'm trying to teach you something."

"Then by all means, proceed."

She takes a step back and he mirrors it, moving his left leg forward.

"And one, two, three," Kate sings softly, moving them around in a lazy waltz. "One, two, three. One, two, three."

"Kate, I'm dancing," he whispers, his turn to mimic the play, and she giggles, her body listing closer to his.

"Yeah," she says, looking up at him through her long lashes. "You are."

Rick slides his hand around to the small of her back, underneath the weight of her bag. He pulls her closer, their steps melting from a waltz to nothing more than a gentle sway. Humming the rest of the song, he rests their joined hands on his chest, the back of hers pressed against his shirt. She has to be able to feel the thundering gallop of his heart, but he doesn't care. Let her feel it. Let her know how she affects him.

He switches to another song, the beat slower and words far more romantic, and Kate slips her hand out from under his. Her fingers slide up the placket of his shirt, curling over the edge of the collar. The notes clog inside his throat as she circles her fingers around the back of his neck and pushes up onto her toes.

Her lips feel like silk.

Rick dips his head, the hand she abandoned on his chest reaching out to cup the side of her face. The tips of his fingers slip over her scarf and into her hair, scratching at her scalp. Kate lets out a low moan and he clutches a handful of her shirt, knees turning to water. Her tongue flicks at his lower lip and he opens, invites her in to play.

Kate's hand kneads at the back of his neck, the other still wrapped around his bicep, and they rock on the spot, hips bumping. Her tongue curls around his and it's his turn to moan, a deep rumble that he can feel all the way to the soles of his feet. Kate lifts further onto her toes, pressing their bodies impossibly closer, her heart pounding so hard he can feel it reverberating in his own ribcage.

They break apart with a pop. Kate falls back on her heels and he follows her down, his forehead pressing against hers and eyes refusing to open. Her warm breath washes across the base of his throat as she pants.

"Wow."

"Yeah," he huffs out on a breathy laugh, his lungs still not functioning properly. "That."

Kate leans back, looking up at him. A blush stains her cheeks as the light makes makes halos in her eyes and Rick finds himself wishing that he had her camera. He never wants to forget this.

Never.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The left side of her skirt hangs lower than the right, pulled down by the weight of her cell. It bounces against her leg as she walks and Kate's heart flutters. She's never been one for the phone, but she's learning. She has to now that Rick Rodgers is in her life.

Every day since their second date, she's spent extra time each morning making sure the ringer is on and the battery has a full charge. He staunchly refuses to call her house phone since ' _it's not nineteen ninety-nine, Kate'_ and so she's found herself now one of the many, her cell phone never far from reach. She's even started texting, her fingers - nimble from years of manipulating a camera - taking to it far more easily than she'd thought possible.

A beep sounds from somewhere near her thigh and Kate doesn't even try to hold back the grin. Lowering her camera to her chest with one hand, she fishes out the phone with the other, her thumb flipping it open with practiced ease. A squirrel runs past, bushy tail twitching in annoyance when she barks out a laugh.

 _Just caught Maggie Prescott and Ashleigh Croft selling cheat sheets hidden inside feminine products. Fiendish or ingenious?_

She lets the camera hang from the strap wound around her neck, leaving both of her thumbs free to tap tap tap at the keypad. Letters flash across the screen and she cycles through them before reaching the one she needs and moving on. She has three words completed when her phone buzzes again.

 _Are you writing a novel over there? That's my aspiration, not yours. Oh, wait. Nevermind. It just takes that long for you to compose a five word text on your Flintstones phone. Don't you want to experience the unbridled joy of a full QWERTY keyboard, Kate?_

Her phone chops his message into three parts and she huffs at it, her frustration growing by the day. Every time she tries to refute his jabs about it being outdated and useless, the damn thing seems to go out of its way to prove him right.

Finally, she gets a message composed and hits send.

 _Excluding boys from the cheating? Ingenious. And if you don't lay off my phone, I'm going to lock you in my darkroom._

She doesn't even have time to raise her camera before the phone chimes yet again.

 _Trapped in a tiny, dark space with you? I think I'll devote the entirety of next period compiling more insults. Okay, back to the grindstone. Man, finals week sucks. I'll call you when I get out of here._

Cheeks lifted in a smile, Kate flips the phone shut and stuffs it into her bag in a pathetic attempt to avoid temptation. They both have work to do. She turns her attention back to the landscape, sharp gaze searching for the perfect shot. The camera sucks her in with ease and she roams around, eye never far from the viewfinder. The film advances with each press of the shutter and her heart flutters again, full with happiness for the first time in far too long.

A ringing pulls her out of her trance some time later. Kate loops the strap of her camera back around her neck so she can dig through her canvas bag with two impatient hands rather than just one.

She juggles the phone out just before it clicks over to voicemail and flips it open without looking at the screen. No one else bothers to call her on this phone anyway. Everyone in her life knows that if they want to hear back from her within a month, they had better leave a message on her house phone instead. Everyone except Rick Rodgers, that is.

"Hey!"

"Katie?"

" _Dad_? Hey. Um, hi." Kate runs a hand through her hair, scratching her nails against her scalp as she attempts to school her voice.

"Yes," Jim chuckles. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"N-No. Of course not. It said 'Dad' on the screen. Who else would I be expecting?" Smooth Kate. Very smooth. She sinks down onto a bench, her skirt fluttering around her calf as one knee bounces. "What's up? Why are you calling my cell? Is something wrong?"

"No," he assures her in a gentle voice. "Nothing's wrong. I tried you at home and you didn't answer so I thought I'd take a chance on the cell since this is somewhat time sensitive."

"What's up?" Kate asks again, her free hand pressing on her her jiggling knee, forcing it to stop. She crosses her legs and leans into the back of the bench, bag tucked securely next to her hip.

"Well, just hear me out before you say no."

As though any conversation that has ever begun that way ended well.

"Okay." She can hear the wariness in her own voice.

"I'm calling to invite you to dinner tonight."

It cannot possibly be that easy.

" _With_?"

"Me." He lets a beat pass before continuing. "And your mother."

"Dad. I don't think -" Kate swallows the whine threatening to escape with her refusal.

"Just hear me out, Katie," Jim repeats, his placating tone taking her back to being fifteen and trying to use the debate skills she had picked up from her parents to negotiate the terms of her curfew. "Your mother has already agreed to avoid all the minefields. No talking about money or work or what type of jobs she thinks you should be taking. And absolutely nothing about men or your love life."

"So," Kate draws out, the palm of one hand turning up to face the cloudless sky, "she's going to stay silent all night then?"

Jim's chuckle echoes over the line, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. "She's your mother, Katie. She loves you. We both know she's too proud to apologize, but she _is_ sorry and she misses you."

Kate fiddles with the strap of her bag, smoothing the pad of her thumb over the rough material. Her eyes roam the park and she lands on the swings, gaze caught on a mother's gentle smile as she pushes her daughter, the girl's shrieks of laughter shattering the air. Without thinking, she lifts her camera and focuses, holding the phone in place with her shoulder.

"Fine," she sighs, finger pressing down on the shutter. "But only as long as she promises to stick to safe topics. You know, like religion and politics."

* * *

The train sways on its rails, rocking back and forth as it speeds through the tunnels buried beneath the busy streets of New York City. Kate sits with her legs crossed, purse held securely in her lap. She releases a long exhale, holding for a count of five before opening her lungs again. She's on the three of her next five count inhale when her phone chimes.

 _I think I just witnessed a CIA drop._

A smile she doesn't even try to fight curls the corners of her lips and the butterflies in her stomach dance, this time on a wave of excitement rather than anxiety.

 _I think you've had too many cappuccinos._

 _Skeptic. What are you up to? Want to join me for the next round, see how high my caffeine tolerance really is?_

Kate chews at the corner of her lower lip, eyes darting up to look at the sliding doors of the subway car. If she got off now, she could make it to ... wherever he is in -

Her father's voice echoes in the back of her mind, reminding her of the promise she made.

Dammit.

 _I wish but I can't. I'm having dinner with my parents. Maybe next time? Assuming I survive._

The phone feels hot against her palm as she clutches it, waiting. She lets her eyes flit around the car, composing shots in her mind's eye. The young couple holding hands and sharing a pair of headphones, the chubby baby with chocolate eyes and a gummy smile strapped to his dad's chest, an old woman with a bag of oranges tucked between her knees. So many pictures begging to be taken. The point-and-shoot in her purse calls to her but Kate resists, the experience of having one camera stolen more than enough for her.

 _It's a date. I'd put an emoji in there but I know you hate when I do that since your phone can't display them. Just imagine I'm giving you a winky face._

 _You almost sprained your left eye the last time you tried to wink at me._

 _You thought it was adorable._

She did. She doesn't even try to deny it.

The train decelerates and Kate sighs. Standing, she makes her way toward the doors, her body off balance without the weight of her bag. She'd swapped it out for a regular purse, something suitable to take to the restaurant her dad had picked out for this apparent peace treaty negotiation. She'd also left the scarves and skirts in her closet, opting instead for a nice pair her black slacks and silk shirt, an outfit she knows her mother won't be able to find any issues with.

Her heels click against the concrete as she disembarks the train and heads out of the station, curled hair bouncing around her shoulders and phone clutched in her hand. She wants to open it, to press in the sequence of buttons that will bring the soothing baritone of his voice spilling down the line. Wants to take a piece of him - his laugh, the way he says her name, the silly little theories and asides he tosses out - with her into the restaurant. She wants -

Rick.

She wants Rick. Wants him to hold her hand while they walk down the sidewalk and to make her laugh when she gets frustrated with her mother's meddling and to kiss her under the striped awning of the deli up the block.

Rolling her eyes at herself, Kate shuts the phone off and stuffs it into the bottom of her purse. She's not a lovesick teenager. She can go three hours without talking to him.

Maybe.

* * *

"Katie." Jim stands from the table with his arms open and Kate steps into the embrace. "It's good to see you, bug."

"Good to see you too, Dad." She presses a kiss to his bare cheek and smiles. "I see Mom won."

"There was nothing to 'win'," Johanna interjects, standing up and opening her own arms. "Your father could have kept the beard if he'd really wanted to."

Swallowing, Kate gives her mother a quick hug, one arm draped loosely around her shoulders. A shadow passes over Johanna's face when they part and a fist squeezes tight somewhere in low in Kate's abdomen. Jim motions toward the table and they all sit, an awkwardness between them that has never existed before.

"So it was keep your beard or keep your wife?" Kate asks, winking at her dad.

He laughs but her mother doesn't.

"Is that really how you think of me, Katherine?" Johanna's left eyebrow hitches up, an all too familiar tic that Kate knows means her mother is particularly unhappy with her. "That I would threaten to leave your father over something as ridiculous as facial hair?"

"Jo -"

"Mom, it was just a joke," Kate says, holding up her hands in surrender. "That's all."

The air around the table thickens with each beat that passes. Finally, Johanna nods, her shoulders dropping.

"I'm sorry," she says, reaching across the table. She covers Kate's hand with her own, thumb brushing at her knuckles. "I was being defensive."

"It's okay."

"No," Johanna rebuts, her gray hair almost silver in the low light as she shakes her head. "It's not. Things haven't been okay between us for weeks, Katie. And I find that unacceptable."

Kate lifts one shoulder in a shrug of agreement. "I'm not really a fan either."

"I _am_ proud of you," Johanna proclaims, fire burning in her eyes, the hazel an exact match to Kate's own. "I am proud of the person you are and the work you do. As for your romantic life -"

"This is you not bringing it up?" Kate asks, cutting her gaze toward her father only to find him smiling softly, eyes for only his wife.

"This is me bringing it up in order to tell you that I am done. I am out of the matchmaking business."

"Until the next time you meet someone who you think is just 'perfect' for me."

Johanna shakes her head. "No. For good. You will never again hear me talk up a man, no matter how perfect I think he would be for you."

Kate looks back and forth between her mother's earnest expression and her father's encouraging one. Her stomach churns and she can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

"You're serious? No more meddling?"

"Do you want a sworn oath? My friend Margaret is a notary, I can call her. Or would you rather blood? I'm sure one of these nice young servers would be happy to get a knife from the kitchen."

"Mom -"

"Jo, that's enough," Jim says, his tone soft but firm. "Katie, your mother has apologized and promised to stay out of your romantic life going forward. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Kate nods, feeling once again like a chastised child. "Yes."

"Okay, then. Let's put this ugliness behind us and move forward as a family. Sound good?"

The rustling of cotton interrupts before either Kate or her mother can answer.

"Good evening." A brunette waitress stands next to Jim, hair pulled up in a neat bun and a mild but sincere smile painted across her lips. "My name is Leslie and I'll be your server this evening. Would you like to hear about our specials?"

"Hello, Leslie," Jim says, turning to smile up at her. "We would absolutely like to hear about the specials, thank you."

"First, we have the Chef's Special which is a salmon filet with a teriyaki glaze served over a bed of rice -"

Kate looks at her mother as Leslie dutifully lists off the ingredient list and preparation methods of every special. Johanna gives her a tentative smile and Kate feels something just to the left of her heart clench and crack. She's never seen her mother look so small. So unsure. It's not her. Not even a little. Johanna Beckett fills whatever room she's in. She doesn't hide in the corner.

Leaning over, Kate presses a soft kiss to her mother's cheek. Johanna sucks in a breath and Kate gives the fingers still wrapped around her own a quick squeeze. "Love you, Mom."

Her mother's eyes shimmer when she opens them. "Love you too, Katie-bug."

"Do you need a moment to decide?" Leslie asks, wrapping up her recitation.

"Yes, thank you, Leslie," Jim answers, always the perfect customer. "A moment would be appreciated."

Leslie nods and walks away. Jim turns his attention back to the table, a mischievous smile curling his lips.

"So, should I recap the specials since neither of you bothered to pay attention?"

Johanna chuckles, reaching out with her free hand to pat his smooth cheek. "Yes, dear. That would be wonderful."

* * *

"You're sure you don't want a cab? Or one of those Uber things?"

Kate and her parents stand on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, the mild night wrapping around them like a cocoon. She shakes her head, her joints warm with wine and contentment.

"I'm sure, Mom," Kate says, pulling Johanna into a hug. "You know I still don't - "

"I know," Johanna agrees, arms wrapped tightly around Kate's waist. Kate pulls in a deep breath, her eyes falling shut as the comforting floral notes of her mother's perfume tickle her nose. "I just wish you wouldn't take the train so late."

"Come on, Jo," Jim says, taking his wife by the hand and coaxing her from their daughter. "Katie will be just fine. She's handled far worse than the subway at ten pm."

"I really have," Kate promises, stepping back with a grin. "Stuff you don't even _want_ to know about."

"You see all this grey?" Johanna asks, waving her free hand around her crown. "This is all you, Katherine Houghton Beckett."

"I think I contributed at least a couple," Jim pipes in, pulling Johanna toward their waiting cab. "Remember that one time in Nepal?"

Johanna whips around to look at him. "You promised to never bring that up again."

"Night, you guys," Kate calls, waving as the starts to walk backward down the sidewalk. "Love you."

Both of her parents toss out quick ' _Love you toos'_ without even breaking their bickering match. They slide into the backseat of the yellow cab and Kate already has her hand buried in her purse, fingers groping for the increasingly familiar feel of her cell. She powers it on as she walks, thumb tapping against the side in impatience as she waits for the logo to disappear.

A little digital envelope sits in the upper right hand corner of the screen and her stomach does a somersault. Kate opens the message, a laugh bubbling up from her toes as she reads. Her thumb hovers over the keypad to type out a response but - no.

The phone only rings twice before he picks up.

"I'm alive," she tells him, the hem of her dress pants rubbing against her ankles as she strolls toward the entrance to the subway. "You can call off the search party."

"And since you're not calling me collect from jail, I assume I can cancel the Go Fund Me I started for bail?"

"Maybe just suspend it," Kate says, her cheeks starting to ache from the way he makes her smile. "At least until I'm sure my mother is going to keep up her side of the truce."

"Truce?"

"It's a long story." Kate waves away the topic with a flick of her hand. She doesn't want to taint this - him - with that. "I was actually calling to see if I could talk you into letting me buy you some dessert. Maybe ice cream?"

"I would love dessert," he says, a sheepish chuckle making the words shake, "but, uh, I'm actually already in bed."

Kate's eyes fall to her watch and her lips twist down in a frown. "It's not even ten-thirty."

"On a school night," Rick reminds her. "I need to be up before six if I want to make it on time. All this handsome takes time, you know."

She hums, feels her smile slide from giddy to something a little more seductive. "Guess i'll just have to think of something better than ice cream to entice you out past curfew."

"I know I have a few ideas," Rick husks, his voice dropping an octave, and a shiver skitters down her spine. "You free Friday?"

Kate shakes her head, forcing her answer out when she remembers he can't actually see her. "I have a rehearsal dinner to shoot."

"Saturday?"

"The wedding following the rehearsal dinner. But…"

She trails off, considering. The photography student she had hired as her assistant for the weekend had cancelled on her last minute and she had already asked Sophia and every other photographer she trusts, each one of them busy with their own shoots.

"I kinda need an assistant. If you're interested."

"Really?"

The excitement in his voice turns her already half-melted heart into a puddle inside her chest.

"It's a lot of work, Rick," she warns, wanting to make sure he knows exactly what he's signing up for. "And a long day. I have to be there at least eight hours and normally I barely get the chance to sit, let alone eat or drink anything." Wedding photography isn't glamorous, at least not from her end of the camera. "So I completely understand if you don't want to. We can always just meet up on Sunday or something-"

"Kate," he half-yells, forcing her to stop rambling. "Just let me know when and where. I'll be there."

The earnestness in his voice pushes her over the edge.

"Okay," she agrees just as the entrance to the subway comes into view. "Eleven o'clock Saturday morning, my place. Wear black."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always welcome and appreciated._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"So you're starting this relationship out with a lie? Not a very auspicious beginning, Richard."

Rick pauses mid bite to stare at his mother across the bistro table, the white table cloth tickling his thighs through his jeans. Brooklyn bustles past them on the sidewalk just on the other side of the metal fence. His fork clatters back to his plate and he lifts his napkin to his lips, regretting the decision to take a larger than normal bite as he attempts to chew and swallow without choking.

"It's not a lie," he mumbles, throat still thick with food.

"Really, darling? What do _you_ call not telling this young woman that you have been in cahoots with her mother since before you met?"

"We're not in cahoots," Rick defends, taking a nervous sip of his iced tea. He clears his throat, fork waving in midair to spear and toss away his mother's all too accurate assessment. "And it's an omission, not a lie."

"Oh, that is nothing but semantics and you know it." Martha collects salad on the end of her fork, always careful to get at least a little taste of everything. "You need to tell her."

"Why?"

Rick swallows another bite of his braised pork chop, the mango chutney turning sour on his tongue, an answer to his own question.

"Do you like this woman, this Kate?"

"I do," he nods, unable to control the smile that creeps across his lips at just the thought of her. "I really do."

For the past week the last thing he does before going to sleep is send Kate a text. The first thing he does when he wakes is look to see what she sent in return during the night.

He envies the artists hours she keeps, a life lived around creativity. One day she'll be up before the sun, already halfway through a roll of film before he even opens his eyes. The next she'll be developing until dawn, bidding him goodnight as his morning alarm chimes then sleeping until he is breaking free of the classroom at the end of the day. It leaves him wishing he could do the same, to finally publish something, quit teaching, and wake up each afternoon next to her.

"Then she deserves to know the truth," his mother says, bringing his meandering mind back to the table. "But you know that already."

He does. The words have been on the tip of his tongue - and his fingers - multiple times since that night at the gallery. But every time he gets up the courage to say the words, to type them out, Johanna's insistent proclamation echoes in his mind. _What Katie doesn't know won't hurt her._ But telling her might, and him as well.

"I'm going to tell her."

"When?"

"I - When the time is right," Rick hedges and his mother tilts her head to the side, the bright red hair she will never admit is mostly from a box these days catching the late evening light.

"And when is that? On your deathbed?"

"Mother -"

She raises her hands, the collection of thin silver bracelets on her wrists tinkling merrily. "All I am saying, Richard, is that this is something you need to address sooner rather than later. The longer you wait, the worse it's going to be when it inevitably blows up in your handsome face."

Rick sighs, fighting against his bone deep instinct to do exactly the opposite of whatever his mother has advised.

"I'll tell her," he says. "As soon as the time is right, I promise."

"I suppose that's the the best I'm going to get out of you," Martha surmises. She knocks her knuckles against the table, eyes lighting up as she moves on to her favorite topic. Herself. "Now, let me tell you about the time I was playing Regan in a traveling production of King Lear and almost ended up in a polygamous marriage with Goneril and the Fool."

Rick shakes his head on a chuckle as his mother gets lost in her tale - hands dancing, tone rising and falling as she puts on the voices of the various characters in her story. There are two things he can always count on from Martha Rogers - unsolicited advice and a good story.

* * *

The front door buzzes without a peep from the intercom. Rick pulls it open and slips inside, bracing himself as he ascends the stairs two at a time. He can hear her from halfway down the hall, a quiet volley of muttering and thumps bouncing off the concrete.

His knock goes unanswered. Rick pushes on the door, bumping it open with his hip when it sticks. Clad in yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt, Kate darts back and forth across the room, gathering random objects from each end before huffing out a creative curse and running back to get something else.

"Hey!" She calls when she finally notices him hovering in the doorway and bounces over to smudge a kiss against the corner of his lips, hers spread wide in a smile. "Get some coffee, have a seat. I'm almost ready."

"You sure?" He slides to a safe spot, out of the way of the photographer tornado, the small of his back snugged up against the sink. "Because unless I misunderstood the dress code, you -" he points at her with one finger, motioning up and down the length of her body - "are seriously underdressed."

"I slept through my alarm," Kate laughs, brushing back by him with her hands full of cords.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I wish but no." She waves him off with a flick of her wrist as she pulls a charger and large battery out of the wall. "It's my own fault. I should have done all of this last night."

RIck pours himself a cup of coffee from the ancient pot on the counter. He doesn't really want it, not after the four cups he's sucked down since the alarm sounded at nine. But after only managing three hours of sleep once his brain stopped the endless replay of the conversation he'd had with his mother over dinner, the extra caffeination couldn't hurt.

Kate flies past him again, a small black bag in one hand and a toothbrush hanging out of the side of her mouth. She drops the bag on the counter and leans around him to turn on the tap. Rick laughs and steps to the side as she wets the bristles and scrubs at her teeth.

"Sorry," she mumbles, gathering water in cupped hand. She swishes and spits, rinsing her toothbrush under the stream from the faucet. "The sink in my bathroom is broken."

"You should call your landlord," Rick says, wincing at the note of unintentional condescension he hears in his voice.

Kate just smiles at him, snapping a cover onto the toothbrush and tossing it into the little bag. "I _am_ my landlord," she tells him, skip-walking back toward the screened off area where he assumes her bed is.

"You own this place?"

"Yeah," she calls from the other side of the screen. "I bought it about five or six years ago. Got here before all the gentrification so I got a great deal."

Rick looks around the apartment, impressed all over again. He notices for the first time that no lamps or overhead lights are lit. They aren't needed. Sun spills in from the oversized windows, bouncing off the polish of the concrete floor and bathing the entire oversized room in late morning light. Electricity jolts down his arms, makes his fingers tingle. There is a spot on the end of the overstuffed couch that calls to him, urging him to nestle into the corner where the cushion meets the arm with his laptop resting on his thighs and a cup of coffee forgotten on the end table.

"This place is really awe - whoa."

The words turn to ash on the tip of his tongue as she steps out from behind the screen. A black dress clings to her body, snug against every curve and valley. The neckline dips in the front, low enough to show a small swatch of skin he can almost feel against his lips, but not so low as to be immodest. Her hair rests in a simple bun at the base of her skull, allowing him to appreciate how the long line of her neck connects to the smooth slope of her shoulders. On any other woman, it would be nothing more than a standard little black dress. On her it is a gift.

One he cannot wait to unwrap.

Kate gives him a shy smile, a pink stain creeping over her exposed collar bones and he wonders if he said that last part out loud.

"Yeah? Presentable?"

Rick pushes off the counter and strides across the room. Her skin feels like velvet against the pad of his index finger as he traces a line from the top of her bicep all the way down to the tip of her pinky. Kate spreads her fingers and he slips his into the empty spaces as he sways forward on loose ankles.

"The bride is supposed to be the most beautiful woman at the wedding," he tells her, watching the green of her eyes darken. "Not the photographer."

She shushes him, her fingers clutching at his as she looks down at the floor. Rick catches her with his free hand, index finger hooking under her falling chin. Gently he guides her, tilting her head up as he lowers his own. Their lips meet in a slow, soft kiss and his gut twists with the intimacy of it. Kate brushes her fingers up the side of his neck, thumb playing with the lobe of his left ear.

"You taste like coffee," she breathes.

"You taste like Aquafresh," he counters and she laughs, pressing one more light kiss to his mouth before stepping back. "I wasn't complaining," Rick clarifies, his fingers still hooked around hers.

"I know," Kate says, slipping out of his grasp. "But we have a gig to get to." She walks over to the pile of bags in the middle of room, picking the largest one up by its thick nylon strap. "And if we don't go now -"

"We'll be late," Rick finishes, taking the bag from her and hanging it from his shoulder.

Kate picks up another bag and hangs it off his free shoulder, head shaking.

"No," she says and the muscles in his abdomen quiver when she drags her fingertips across his waist. She looks him in the eye, teeth scraping over her full bottom lip. "If we don't go now, we'll never leave at all."

* * *

"Here, take this."

Rick looks down, jaw going slack as Kate shoves what looks like a smaller version of her main digital camera in his hands. He's noticed she's favored digital for the wedding so far, the film cameras reserved for very special shots. She had reached for the one housing black and white film for only a handful of the other getting ready shots - the bride slipping her dress over her corset, the groom's father helping him with his bowtie, the twin flower girls twirling barefoot in the sunlight on the patio of the rooftop venue, their little pale yellow dresses puffing up, barrel curls bouncing.

"What's this for?"

"Take some shots. Place settings, decorations, the skyline. Whatever strikes you," Kate directs on a shrug, like she's completely forgotten he has no photography experience at all, and he can't swallow his small yelp.

"But I -" He starts but she lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head up at him.

She had worn heels out of the apartment but had quickly changed into flats once she had started running around the venue. They've been non stop for two hours already and the wedding isn't even supposed to start for another two. He needs to remember to track them both down a bottle of water.

"Relax. I'm not looking for anything professional from you. We just have some downtime before I need to collect everyone for formals. I'm going to get some shots too, it's a lot easier before all the guests get here."

He nods and she steps closer to him, her body warm along the front of his.

"Now," Kate continues, pushing a couple of buttons on the camera in his hands, her own hanging from her neck. He's felt the weight of her camera and that seriously cannot be comfortable. "This is a Nikon D-90. It's a basic camera, high amatur/low professional grade, but dependable. I like to keep it as a back up. I have it on automatic for you, and it has a basic lense, a fifty millimeter. It won't zoom but it takes good pictures. Look through the viewfinder not at the screen," she directs and he lifts the camera to his face. "Now press the button halfway down to focus. Keep doing that until it focuses on what you want, then press it the rest of the way down."

The camera clicks and he pulls it away to look at the screen. He has a half blurry picture of a vase of yellow and white flowers. He frowns as the screen flashes back to blank, and Kate giggles, patting his chest.

"Just keep trying. You'll get it." She presses a kiss to his cheek and then takes off across the room, her own camera- a Nikon D-700 if he remembers correctly- in hand.

' _A camera is only a good as its photographer, Rick,'_ she had told him when they had stopped for a quick lunch on the way to the wedding. ' _If you don't know how to use it correctly, if you can't feel the shot, it doesn't matter how fancy your camera is or how expensive your lens. And visa versa, if you give a great photographer a cheap camera, they will still manage good shots. They may not be perfect, there's a limit on quality with a point-and-shoot, but they will still be art.'_

He snaps another couple of experimental shots of the vase and grins when one finally comes out with the flowers in focus. He moves around the space, snapping the occasional shot of a place card or tea light. Kate leans over the railing on the edge of the rooftop, feet wedged in the wrought iron fence. Rick lifts his camera as he wanders up beside her, compelled to preserve the image of her intense focus. She turns to him when the camera snaps, her chest flushing a light pink.

"You're supposed to be taking photos of the wedding, Rick."

"I am," he shrugs. "Last time I checked, the photographer is a part of the wedding. The most important part, from where I'm standing."

She gives him that amused eye roll he's already become accustomed to. "Is there no limit to your charm?"

"Nope," he says, popping the p as she steps back from the railing, her hand shaking slightly. "Hey, are you okay?"

Kate shrugs, a pallor in her face that makes his heart race. "Just not the biggest fan of heights."

"Then what -" He motions at the railing, the fifteen stories of empty air between them and the street below. "Why did you -"

"Had to get the shot," Kate answers, the muscles in her shoulders loosening and the color coming back into her cheeks. "Can't let the fear control me forever, you know?"

His hand reaches for hers of its own accord. Kate squeezes his fingers and he sways toward her, the lens of his camera bumping gently against hers. He opens his mouth to say... _something_ and a throat clears from behind him.

"Kate, we're ready for the first look shots," the wedding planner announces, a clipboard clutched to her chest. "We're going to do them by the reflecting pool."

"On my way," Kate calls back, her hand slipping from his. He starts to follow her but she shakes her head. "You stay here," she says, pointing back toward the reception area. "This part is -"

"Special," Rick finishes and she nods, a smile flirting with the edges of her mouth.

"Try not to get into too much trouble," Kate tosses over her shoulders as she walks away, her hips swaying.

Rick slips back into the reception area and walks the perimeter of the space, taking random pictures. He tries to see the room how he imagines Kate does, picking out tiny details that a casual observer would simply look past. Daisies stand tall in middle of each table and he leans in close to one arrangement, holding the shutter button down until it focuses on a single fallen petal, the yellow vivid against the snowy white backdrop of the table cloth. He snaps the picture then picks the petal off the table, tucking it into the front pocket of his button down shirt.

He can see the reflecting pool from where he stands, Kate stationed at one end, camera held up to her eye. The groom stands on the other side, a yellow cloth tied around his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. The bride steps out onto the patio and Rick can almost hear the rustling of her dress against the brick.

Kate skirts around the pool on bare feet, camera never wavering. She inches closer and he finds himself lifting his own Nikon, focused not on the bride as she unties the blindfold and reveals herself for the first time to her soon to be husband, but on Kate. On the soft smile curling her lips and the single tear he can just barely make out as it coasts over the roundness of her cheek.

She snaps picture after picture and he clicks along with her until finally she stops and backs away, leaving the couple alone. Rick snaps one last picture of Kate, her caramel hair turned golden by the midday sun and her smile so wide he wonders if her cheeks hurt.

The question of who would take the photographs of their wedding flashes idly through his mind and as she look back at him, their eyes meeting for one brief second before her head ducks, pink tinging her skin, he can't help but wonder if she's thinking the same.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Pain radiates out from the balls of her feet, climbing up over the arches to shoot through her calves. Kate curls her toes inside her high heels, swaying from side to side as she watches couples twirl past on the dance floor. The ceremony ended hours ago; the formal photos have been taken, the dinner served and cake cut. With the exception of a few more candids of the reception, she's finished for the night.

A smile tugs at her lips and her camera flashes as a boy in the remnants of a suit - jacket shed and shirt untucked, his blue and yellow plaid bow tie askew- dips one of the flower girls in a move way beyond his single-digit years.

"You think he gives lessons?"

"I don't think you could afford him," Kate chuckles as the miniature Gene Kelly twirls the giggling girl around the parquet dance floor, drawing hoots and hollers from some of the guests. "And, honestly, I'm not sure that even he could make something out of those two left feet of yours."

"Hey," Rick argues, his breath rushing past her ear as one hand cups the dip of her waist, pulling her back snug against his front. "I did pretty well in the park that night."

Her stomach ripples at the memory. "Yeah, you did."

"And, Ms. Beckett, I will have you know that courtesy of that single exemplary lesson, one of my feet has decided to come out as ambidextrous." He taps the toe of his right dress shoe against the side of her heel. "It wasn't an easy decision, but I accept it for what it really is and think it would be best if I show it support by trying to dance yet again."

She twists her neck to look at him, his face just inches from her own. Only pride in her professionalism keeps her from tipping her head forward to run her mouth along his jawline.

"Is this your way of asking me to dance?"

"Would it be inappropriate for the hired help to take a twirl around the dance floor?"

Kate shakes her head and gives in, dropping a single kiss low on his cheek. His five o'clock shadow tickles her lips and even over the din of the chatter and music, she can hear him swallow.

"No," she says, Rick's hand tightening against her hip. "The bride invited us to stay and enjoy the party."

Turning her attention back to crowd, Kate snaps a few more shots of the kids and the other couples who have decided to join them on the dance floor. Tiny Romeo drops into the splits and she presses the button as the crowd erupts in applause.

"And I am now officially finished."

"Really?"

Kate turns to fully face him, his hand slipping around to rest at the small of her back as she reaches up to free her neck of the camera strap. Rick sways them from side to side and she raises an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, really. But before we can go play Fred and Ginger -"

"Baby and Johnny," Rick cuts in, bumping his hips up against hers in a way that makes her legs quiver and goosebumps lift along the valley of her spine.

"Wh - What?" She chokes, knuckles burning from the iron grip she has on the camera. White noise fills her ears and the spicy scent of his cologne floods her nostrils.

Leaning in, Rick smudges his grin along the crest of her flushed cheek. His hand slides all the way around her back, pulling her in tight as the other lifts to play along the length of her forearm.

"We're definitely more _Dirty Dancing_ than _Swing Time_ ," he asserts, lips brushing at her earlobe. "Don't you think?"

Kate takes a deep breath, her head clearing with the rush of fresh oxygen. The music fades back in and she reaches for him, running her fingers over the smooth cotton of his dress shirt.

"Well, I have always wanted a castle of my very own," Kate breathes against the side of his neck, swallowing back a giggle when she feels his adam's apple bob. "But before we can have the time of our lives, I need to put this -" she presses the end of her camera lens into his chest - "away and we both need to get some sort of sustenance."

Rick nods, his eyes glassy in the flickering candlelight. "Food sounds good."

Reaching around behind herself, Kate snags his hand from her waist. She laces their fingers and leads him through the neat lines of tables, each adorned with crisp white linens and a vase of daisies. Two covered plates wait for them on a bare table in the a little room off the side of the hall, the rest of her gear stacked up against one wall. Rick makes a beeline for the food and Kate heads for her equipment, shaking her head as she listens to him moan in delight.

"Oh my God, Kate," he mumbles, cheeks chipmunked with seared tuna and asparagus tartlet. "You gotta try this."

"I will in a minute. Just gotta -" she twirls a finger at the array of bags by her feet - "take care of this first."

"You need help?"

"Nah, I got it. You eat." Squatting down next to pile, she fixes him with a sharp look. "But you'd better save me one of those tartlets."

Holding greasy fingers to his forehead, Rick gives her a mock salute before reaching for another puffed pastry appetizer. Kate rolls her eyes at him even as her cheeks lift in a smile. She examines the bags with diligence, cataloging every camera, lens, and memory card. She generally doesn't have issues at upscale events like this, but better safe than sorry.

Satisfied that everything remains where she left it, Kate secures her Nikon back in its case and stands. Smoothing a hand down the back of her thighs, she slides into the chair perpendicular to Rick's and offers him a whispered thanks when he pushes the plate - now containing only her half of the appetizers - toward her. Kate picks up one of the tartlets and as the pastry shell melts on her tongue, she echoes back his moan of delight from before.

"Stop that," Rick husks, knuckles blanching white around his fork.

"Why? You did it."

"Mine didn't sound quite so - " He flutters his free hand at her, fingers wiggling - "X-Rated."

Popping another piece onto her tongue, Kate lets out an exaggerated groan, the sound trapped low in her throat. Her ribs vibrate with it and want rushes hot through her middle as she watches the sky blue of his eyes turn stormy. Her heels hit the floor before she even has time to think about what she's doing.

"Come dance with me," she says, one hand extended.

Rick blinks, head rocking back on his neck. "What about the - Don't you want to finish eating?"

Prying the fork from his fingers, Kate tosses it to the table with a shake of her head.

"Later," she tells him, a victorious cheer rising up in her heated blood when he slips out of the chair without any further coaxing. She leads him toward the exit to the patio, his fingers thick and warm between her own. "Right now, I want to dance with you."

She'd wanted to dance with him out here earlier in the evening, when the sun was slipping down to kiss the horizon, its bright orange rays radiating out from behind the buildings and making the world glow golden. But this, now, with the lights dancing across the still water of the reflecting pool and the night breeze cool against her skin - this is perfect.

"There's no music," he points out as she turns to face him, arm already slipping around her waist, fitting right into the curve as if it was made to rest there.

The party pulses on the other side of the thick glass, a hundred guests dancing and drinking in raucous yet dignified celebration. The air vibrates with the beat of the music as Kate shifts her hips to one side and back again. Rick moves with her and they sway on the spot, the noise from the street below their only melody. With her heels on, they're almost the same height and Kate leans in, her cheek pressed to the hinge of his jaw.

"We don't need it."

It's not unusual for Kate to beg off from the invite to stay and join the party once her commitment has expired, choosing instead to spend the entire night after a wedding with her nose in the photographs- uploading, developing, editing. Her body burns for it. She loves the thrill of discovery, the way her heart leaps and stomach flutters as she works to uncover the magic preserved in her photographs. The love and devotion and commitment. The joy.

But tonight, for the first time, that fire has been eclipsed by another, this one far brighter than she has the will to resist. It's been crackling inside of her since the first night they met, growing hotter with each passing day. She thrums with it, her every single nerve ending sparking until her entire body vibrates. The tip of her nose, the soft spaces behind her knees, the sensitive skin at the base of her spine. It invigorates and scares her, body fluctuating between hot and cold as she wars with herself.

"Anything you want to share with the class?"

Rick's voice cuts through low buzz of her looping thoughts and she jerks in the circle of his arms, her temple bumping against the blunted point of his cheekbone.

"What?"

"I can feel you thinking."

"Oh, just my usual post-wedding stress that I didn't get any good pictures for them," Kate covers quickly, guiding them into a slow turn.

"Really? That's one thing I'm definitely not worried about," Rick counters, his low voice spilling down the side of her neck, thumb rubbing lazy circles across the back of her hand. "You were amazing out there. Whatever you charge is so not enough. Your work ethic, your eye for shots, your investment in making sure it's the best it can possibly be -" His hair tickles the end of her nose as he shakes his head - "The who's who of New York would be lucky to have you shoot their wedding, Kate. And you pretty much did it by yourself."

"You helped."

"I handed you things and held your shoes," he corrects with self-conscious chuckle. "Don't get me wrong, I really loved being here, watching you work. It was fascinating. Exhilarating. But I'm sure another photographer would have been more helpful."

"Maybe," Kate concedes with a shrug, her fingers playing with the fine hair along the back of his neck. "But not nearly as fun. Plus -" she adds, turning to coast her lips along the sharp cut of his jaw - "I couldn't do this with another photographer."

She grazes her mouth over the arched corner of his and Rick turns into her, his tongue soft and seeking at her bottom lip. A purr rises up out of the depths of her chest and she doesn't even try to swallow it back, to hide what he makes her feel. Vulnerability has always terrified her but with him it just might be worth it.

"Yeah," Rick breathes when they part, his lips hovering mere millimeters from hers, hand stroking at the jut of her hip. "I doubt Sophie would enjoy that very much. Well maybe she would, who knows. And it might give Laurent a heart attack if you did that to him."

Dropping her forehead to rest on against his chin, Kate huffs a half-hearted groan into the exposed skin at the base of this throat. "Please do not talk about Laurent when I'm kissing you. That's just-" She shimmies her shoulders in a faux shiver. "Wrong. It's so wrong."

Rick chuckles, a low rumbling sound from deep within his chest that has her shiver taking a sharp turn from theatrical to genuine. "No May-December romance for you then?"

"God, no," she says, bun rubbing against the nape of her neck as her head shakes. "Laurent is like a grandfather to me. He's my mentor. I knew I loved photography before I met him but he helped me understand _why_ I love it. And how to be good at it."

"I envy you that, you know?"

Kate cocks her head to one side. "What?"

"That confidence. In your work. In yourself and your abilities."

Rick's eyes go wide at her bark of laughter. "You're kidding me, right?"

He shakes his head and she sighs.

"Rick, I literally just told you how I always worry about the quality of my shots after a wedding. I spend hours pouring over the pictures, my stomach in knots. I can't relax for weeks until the bride tells me she likes them. And this -" she waves a hand at the flowered archway above them, a leftover from the ceremony and pictures - "this isn't even really my career. My passion. It's like you with teaching. This is my day job. It pays the bills while I pursue the rest."

"But you _are_ pursuing it," he says pulling her in close again, breath feathering at her temple. "That's something to be proud of."

"You have the same thing to take pride in."

Rick gives her a hum and takes the lead, his strong arms holding her securely as they travel lightly across the bricked patio. He spins them around with a fluid grace and her heart catches somewhere in her throat when he dips her backward, his smiling face framed by the clear night sky.

"Faker," Kate accuses, pinching his earlobe as he rights her. "How many women have you lured into giving you dancing lessons by pretending to have two left feet?"

"I am appalled at the suggestion," he huffs, the warm exhale ruffling the errant strands of hair that have slipped out of her bun. The ends tickle her neck and her muscles quiver. "This is all merely a product of your fantastic instruction."

"Oh, so you're just a fast learner then?"

"With the right teacher," Rick answers, dipping his chin toward her. "Though not too fast. I do like to linger. In certain circumstances."

"Is that a fact?"

"Indeed it is," he confirms, leaning in to press a hot kiss against her parted lips. "I'll have to show you sometime."

"Yes, you will," Kate murmurs, swallowing down a laugh as she steps back and his face falls. "But not right now. Right now, we need to pack up my gear and head out." She points at the reception hall, the crowd considerably thinner. "Party's over."

Taking step forward, Rick spreads his arms wide, body silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline. A wide, beaming smile splits his cheeks and Kate rocks on her toes, struggling with the urge to press herself against him once more, to feel his arms wrapped snuggly around her middle.

"Your pack mule awaits."

* * *

Rick pants as they hike up the flight of stairs to her apartment. Bags bounce off the walls and the railings and Kate winces, sending up a silent prayer to the photography gods that her cameras are well protected.

"You could have let me carry some of that," she reminds him, waving a hand at the at least fifty pounds of photography equipment draped over his shoulders. "It's not like I haven't lugged it all over the city by myself before."

"I was trying to be chivalrous, dammit. But you -" he huffs, leaning against the wall next to her front door, sweat beading up along his hairline - "You could have let me order a cab. Or an Uber."

She could have, yeah. She probably should have.

But -

Rolling her shoulders back, Kate pushes the thought away. Not tonight. Shoving her key into the lock, she pushes open her door, waving Rick in ahead of her. He stops in the middle of the living room, his entire body sagging under the weight of his load.

"It's a waste of money," she says, feeding him her standard excuse as she slides the door back along the track. "Here, let me help you."

Together, they unwind the straps from his neck and shoulders. Kate piles the equipment next to her desk and kicks off her shoes. She pulls the bobby pins from her hair and scratches at her scalp, sighing.

"Much better," she declares, aching toes curling into the balls of her feet as she turn back to Rick. "You want something to drink?"

He nods. "Sure."

"I have wine," she offers. "And coffee, but it might be a little late for that."

"Wine's good," Rick agrees, following her over to the kitchen.

Kate waves him into one of the mismatched stools at the island. She can feel his eyes tracking her as she putters around the tiny space, pulling down glasses and tugging the bottle half empty bottle of white out of her freshly stocked refrigerator.

"Oh, I have some strawberries too," Kate tosses over her shoulder. "Sound good?"

"Yeah," he agrees after a couple of beats. "That's fine."

Dropping the plastic flat of berries onto the island, Kate looks at him, butterflies erupting in her stomach."Are you okay?" She asks, trying and failing to conceal the waiver in her voice as she reaches for the bottle and pours them each a glass. "You've been quiet since we left the wedding."

"Oh, yeah," he says, the graze of his finger sending sparks up her arm when he takes the wine from her. "I'm just -"

"What?"

Abandoning the glass, Rick sighs, hands falling to the table. He stares at his fingers and Kate feels her heart sink. This - Shit, this cannot be good.

"I'm just thinking about something you said. About pursuing dreams and how we both have that to be proud of." He sighs again, the heavy breeze of it rustling the leaves of the strawberries. "I - I'm not. I don't."

Kate scoots around the island and sits down next to him, a comforting hand braced on his thigh. "What are you talking about? You write every day, Rick. For hours."

He nods, hair flopping down into his averted eyes. "Yeah, I do. But I -" A frustrated growl rumbles in his chest and Rick pushes back from the island. He strides across to the windows and looks out, shoulders rolled forward and hands stuffed into his pockets. "This is hard for me to talk about."

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," Kate assures him, the knot in her stomach loosening as she spins around to look at his hunched back. Whatever this big secret of his is, it's not relationship ending. Not if it's just about his writing.

"No, I want to. I do. It's just not something I like to talk about."

"Rick -"

"When I was twenty, I wrote a novel. I was young and arrogant and fancied myself the next Great American Author. I got an agent and sold the manuscript, all before my twenty-first birthday."

Kate pads over to him, her hand slipping into the crook of his elbow. She leans into his side, watches his reflection in the glass. The sadness in his eyes makes her chest clench and she presses a gentle kiss to the ridge of his bicep.

"That sounds amazing."

His brittle laugh shatters at their feet. "It would have been if the book hadn't been so egregiously awful."

"I'm sure it wasn't -" Kate interjects. She knows his kind of passion, has seen ample evidence of it in only the short time they've been dating. No one has that type of intensity without the talent to accompany it.

"No, it was," he cuts in, brushing off her reassurances with a shrug of his shoulder. "I haven't been able to pick it up in over twenty years, but trust me when I tell you it was the height of literary pretension. Overwrought and overwritten and just plain bad. I was panned in every major literary review in the country."

He sighs again and Kate shifts, slipping her body between his and the bay of windows. She wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly, hoping that at least some of it can reach that defeated twenty-one year old kid she can hear in his voice.

"What happened?" She asks, his heart thumping a steady beat against her cheek.

"My agent cut me off like I was a cancer. I ended up having to pay back most of my advance. I didn't even manage to sell a quarter of the first - and only - printing." His chin bumps against the top of her head as he talks, hands spread wide over her back. "It was humiliating, Kate. I had all these lofty ideas about what my career as a writer would be. Interviews with Charlie Rose and Terry Gross, honorary teaching positions at prestigious universities. Being able to make a living off my words."

"But you still write," Kate argues, tilting her head back to look up at him. "You can still have that."

Rick shrugs, his unfocused eyes still staring at the nonexistent view out her window. "I write but I don't do anything with it."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't write for a long time after all of that. I couldn't. It took me about ten years to be able to face it again," he confesses and her heart aches at the thought of him suppressing his talent and passion for so long. "And once I started - Well, I have something like fifteen finished manuscripts in a box at my apartment. They're just sitting there, gathering dust."

"You haven't tried to find another agent? To get published again?"

"No." Rick shakes his head, finally tilting his gaze down to meet hers. "I can't go through all of that again. Once was enough. More than."

"Rick, I'm -"

"No," he says, lifting a finger to press against her lips. Her stomach does a somersault and she takes a deep, steadying breath. "It's okay. I've mostly made peace with it. But I wanted you to know." His hand moves to cup the side of her face. "You are amazing, Kate. So much about you astounds me. Your passion and your drive and your talent. You need to recognize that in yourself. Don't ever doubt it."

Hands fisted in the back of his shirt, Kate presses herself up onto her toes. Their lips meet with an intensity unmatched by any of their previous kisses. Unmatched by any other kiss in her life. Rick's hand sinks into her hair, twisting the strands around his fingers as he devours her mouth. Kate moans and he steps forward, pressing her up against the window.

"Stay," she whispers, her fingers scuttling around to work on the buttons of his shirt. "Stay with me tonight."

His hand slides down the back of her neck, thumb brushing at the smooth metal zipper nestled between her shoulder blades. "Are you sure?"

Pushing off the window, Kate guides him backward across the living room. They pass behind the ornate Chinese screen and she backs him up to the bed, lips playing along the newly exposed skin of his chest.

Hands planted on his shoulders, she pushes, grinning as he bounces on his back on the mattress. The skirt of her dress rustles against the bedspread as she climbs up over him, knees planted on either side of his hips. His hands coast up the length of her back as she leans over him, one hand planted next to his hand and the other reaching for his belt.

"I'm sure," Kate says, her hair a curtain around their faces. "And - " she brushes her nose along the side of his, holding herself just out of reach of his seeking lips - "I want you to _linger_."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comment are always appreciated._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Red light seeps through his closed eyelids. Rick crinkles his nose against the intrusion, neck twisting until his face points in the opposite direction. A shadow passes through the haze and he sighs, one hand lifting up to scratch the tip of his nose.

 _Click_

The cloud he's sleeping on sways and another click has his eyelids fluttering open. Rick squints into the light streaming through the window, eyes watering. The world shifts into focus and Kate's smile greets him, wide and bright. She stands over him, feet planted on either side of his hips, her face half hidden behind a camera, and a curtain of mussed hair cascading over her shoulders.

"Kate," he mumbles, tongue darting out to moisten sleep-dried lips. "Hi."

"Mornin'," Kate replies, a giggle rattling in her throat.

The camera shutter clicks again just as his hands run up the smooth skin of her calves. He hits the backs of her knees and she crumples, miles of toned legs folding up like origami. The hem of her shirt - _his_ shirt - tickles the exposed skin along his flank and she aims her lens at him again.

"That shirt looks way better on you," he gruffs out, the words unfiltered as she leans into him, one elbow planted into the middle of his chest.

The click of the camera and another soft giggle turned gasp answer him as his hand drifts, thumb brushing the silky skin at the crease of her hip.

"You sure? I could always take it off, give it back to you."

"You definitely could," he hums, hand gliding over the firm curve of her rear.

Spreading his fingers wide at the small of her back, Rick presses the tips into her skin. Kate sinks into him willingly, shifting until she's stretched out next to him, her body half draped over his. Her camera comes to rest on his pec as she dips her head to kiss him, a quiet click accompanying the wet touch of her tongue to his bottom lip.

"I think I'd much rather take it off of you myself, though," Rick breathes as she shifts against him, her legs falling to straddle one of his.

"That sounds like a plan to me."

The camera bounces to the mattress as she rocks her hips, body molding to his and a whimper slips off her tongue. Swallowing it, he rolls them over until her hair fans out over a pillow. His hand embarks on an exploratory mission, drifting past the equator of her slim waist. He strokes and caresses, cataloging every whimper, twitch, and moan.

Braced on one elbow, Rick breaks from their kiss, mouth carving its own wet trail down the side of her neck and across the plane of skin left exposed by the open collar of the shirt. Kate's sinks her fingers into his hair, a soft groan echoing inside her mouth just as a loud, gurgling growl reverberates through the room. He lets out a hearty laugh, his lips raspberrying against her chest.

"Did you ever actually eat anything yesterday?"

He pulls back just far enough to see the crimson blush shoot from the base of her neck up her cheeks, all the way to the tips of her ears.

"I, um - We had lunch," she mumbles, one hand coming to shield her abdomen as her stomach makes its displeasure known again. "And those appetizers."

"Which, as delicious as they may have been, were hardly filling."

"I had more important things on my mind," Kate says, shrugging one shoulder as her head lifts off the pillow to tuck into the crook of his neck, her tongue doing devious twirls that make him almost forget any idea of food until his stomach begins its own symphony of growls.

"As much as I really, _really_ want to continue this, we should probably get some food."

"But I like it here," Kate whines, her fingers curled into his hair. "And food is all the way -" she lifts one leg and points her toes toward the front door - "over there."

"Gotta keep those energy levels up, Kate," Rick reminds her. "Food, then this. And trust me, we will be picking up right about _here_ -" He curls his fingers against the inside of her thigh and Kate gasps.

"If you want me to feed you, you have to stop that _right now_."

Chuckling, Rick presses a kiss to her temple and rolls away. He slips into his boxers and stands, turning on the spot to find Kate still spread out on the bed, shirt riding up around her waist and cheeks flushed.

"Come on." He holds out a hand, fingers wiggling. "Let's get breakfast."

"Brunch," Kate corrects, taking his proffered hand and letting him pull her up to sit. "It's almost eleven."

He barely manages to quash the groan that threatens to erupt inside his chest. His mind flashes once again to that damn avocado toast and crab cakes benedict. And as much as he loves a good crab cake, he can't help but feel that there is supposed to be a distinct separation between breakfast food and lunch food. Especially when greedy restaurateurs use the portmanteau as an excuse to charge twice as much for the bastardization of meals.

But with Kate beaming up at him from her perch on the edge of the bed, looking so rumpled and adorable, he can't bring himself to do anything other than nod his agreement.

"Brunch is it," Rick says, reaching for his pants as she bounces up from the bed.

Three weeks in and he's already fallen harder for her than any other woman. The certainty that he would do anything for her overwhelms him. And if he would be willing to brave the fires of Mount Doom for her, he can sit through a couple hours of overpriced brunch. Especially if she spends even a quarter of the meal looking at him with those bright eyes and a soft smile.

"Perfect. I'll start the coffee. I think I might even have some champagne in the back of the fridge that we can use for mimosas. _And_ …" She pauses, beaming grin pulling impossibly wider until it crinkles the corner of her eyes. "I bought everything we could possibly need in order to make the ultimate grilled cheese brunch."

A squawk flies from her open mouth when he pounces, sending his pants fluttering once again to the floor and both of them tumbling right back onto the bed.

"You are the perfect woman," he pronounces in between kisses pecked to her lips. "Ooo, is this technically a sex brunch?"

"A _grilled cheese_ sex brunch," Kate purrs, her fingers threading through the fine hairs at the base of his skull to pull him in, mouths pressing together in a lazy kiss.

"The only acceptable kind," he murmurs in reply when they part.

"Okay, up," Kate commands, patting one palm to his chest when his stomach growls once again. "Food. Now."

He leaves the pants on the floor, following her over to the kitchen in nothing but boxers and smile. Kate pulls coffee grounds and a filter out the cabinet, turning to press them into his chest as she backs toward the refrigerator.

"Start the coffee?"

Rick takes the plastic bag and paper cone from her with a nod and a few unnecessary - but not unwelcome, judging by the way her teeth clamp down over her bottom lip - caresses to the backs of her hands.

"Sure," he agrees, a confident grin spreading his lips wide as he watches her sway a little on her bare feet before turning to open the refrigerator door.

"Okay, I got five different types of cheese -"

"Seriously," he interrupts, eyeing her coffee pot, "what is it with you and antiques? Your phone, this thing. Is this the original prototype? Did Mr. Coffee himself build this?"

"I also have tomato, spinach, bacon, ham, onion," Kate continues without acknowledging him, pulling packages out and stacking them on the counter. "I thought about getting mushrooms too, but I wasn't sure if you liked them."

"I am definitely a fan of the fungi," he tells her over his shoulder as he fills the water reservoir and hits the button to start the brew cycle. "For future reference."

"I'll remember that." Kate spreads the assorted sandwich fillings out across the counter. "Is this enough? I wasn't sure what you liked and I wanted to cover all the bases but -"

"It's perfect," he cuts in, stepping up behind her and folding his arms around her waist. "You really didn't have to go to all this trouble, Kate."

She shrugs and leans back against him. The skin at her temple smells like vanilla and he presses his lips there, pulling in a deep breath. Kate turns her face into his kiss, one hand lifting to rest along the side of his neck.

"Are you sure? We can run to the store down the block if I missed something."

His soft laugh ruffles her hair. "I'm sure. This is more than enough to make the ultimate grilled cheese sandwich."

Hell, he'd eat a Kraft single between two slices of stale white bread if she was the one who made it for him.

Kate lets her hand fall as she nods. She steps out of the circle of his arms, grabbing two loaves of bread from the counter. "Sourdough or Rye?"

Pecking one final kiss to her lips, he takes the loaves and moves past her to belly up to the counter. "I got this," Rick says, pushing imaginary sleeves up his forearms. "Let the grilled cheese master show you how it's done."

Kate barks out a laugh but slides to the side, giving him the whole countertop to work. "Master? Don't set expectations you can't meet, Rick."

"I think I met - and exceeded - all your expectations last night," he tosses back, opening up the packages of cheese. Fresh sliced from the deli. She really is perfect. "At least if I'm judging by the number of times you said -"

Slender fingers clamp over his mouth, her chest pressing into his back. "If you ever want to hear me say it again," she husks, breath warm against the side of his neck, "you'll shut up now."

Rick nods and Kate brushes a quick kiss to his shoulder blade before stepping back, her hand sliding down the valley of his spine.

"Okay, grilled cheese guru," she declares, fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers. "Show me whatcha got."

He works quickly, pulling out bread and fillings. Elaborate grilled cheese sandwiches are great - amazing - but this morning calls for simplicity. Bread, butter, cheese. Classic. Kate hovers at his shoulder while he constructs and cooks, quietly observing. He slides two perfectly golden sandwiches onto a plate and she presses a smile to the cap of his shoulder.

"You really are a master," she says, pushing him toward the mismatched stools next to her rolling island.

Ricks sits, picking up one of the strawberries they never got around to eating the night before. He bites into it, the juice bright and tart on his tongue, and watches as Kate pours out two giant cups of coffee. The porcelain mugs clatter together when she gathers them up in one hand, her other holding a bottle of hazelnut creamer and a box of Splenda packets.

She plops down next to him and he grabs her knee, stopping her from spinning them under the edge of the table. Kate smiles and cants forward, her hands lifting up to cup the sides of his neck as she leans in to press her lips to his.

"Good morning," he murmurs when she pulls back, her forehead coming to rest on his.

"Yeah," she agrees and his heart stumbles, crashing hard against his ribs. "It really is."

They eat in silence, shy, happy looks passing between them as they alternate between their perfectly gooey sandwiches and sips of coffee. He goes between them one handed, unwilling or maybe even unable to pull his other palm from the soft skin of her thigh.

He has to admit that even if her coffee maker may be as old as she is, it still makes a damn fine cup of joe. He can feel the tingling need to write jolt up his arm again. This place- the light, the coffee, her. So many possibilities.

Rick takes another sip and Kate shoots him a knowing look as a content hum rumbles up through his chest. His fingers caress her thigh in retaliation, hand creeping higher under the hem of the black button down. His thumb runs over the puckered ridge of the raised white scar that stretches half the length of her thigh. He had paid it, them, fleeting attention the night before as he explored her body- the long one on her thigh, a smaller one that slashed across her ankle- but it was different in the light of day.

"What happened?" The words are off his tongue before he can stop them, and he wishes nothing more than to be able to swallow them back down with his curiosity as Kate stops mid bite, the rest of her sandwich falling back to the plate.

But her eyes are soft when she finally looks at him, her head propped in one palm, fingers threaded through her hair. The seconds stretch long between them, meals forgotten, drinks growing cold. The coffee maker clicks on the counter and Kate shifts in her seat, her hand falling to his, keeping it still on her leg.

"There was an accident," she starts, resolved, and his attention is rapt.

"I was a bit of a wild child when I was younger," Kate continues, her gaze falling to where her hand plays with his fingers resting on her thigh. "Dating guys just to shock my parents, getting a tattoo at sixteen, all that stuff. And I had a motorcycle. A '94 Harley Softail." She lets out a wistful sigh. "I loved that thing. Worked all of high school to pay for it."

Stomach bottoming out, Rick can feel his brunch threatening to revisit him as his imagination already begins to fill in the gaps. His fingers stiffen beneath hers but she just gives him a squeeze, coaxing his muscles to relax with only one touch.

"I left it back in New York when I went to Stanford but I missed it too much, kept imaging how much fun I could have on it in California. Road trips down the coast, across the desert. Vegas, Canada, Mexico. The world was my oyster, you know? I didn't have a care in the world."

She huffs out a brittle laugh and he can see the tears starting to gather at the corner of her eyes as she rolls them up to stare at the exposed beams of the ceiling.

"Anyway, the summer before my sophomore year I flew home to New York and then drove the bike back across country." Her lips curl into a smile even as her chin trembles. "Oh, it was fantastic, Rick. Just me and the open road. My parents were terrified the entire time, made me promise to check in every night but I didn't care. I felt free."

"Sounds perfect."

Kate nods.

"It was. And my friends back in California were all so jealous. They loved it, always begging to go for rides. My boyfriend at the time, Brent, was particularly obsessed with it." She cocks her head to the side, eyes scanning over his face. "You remind me a little of him, you know?. The thick brown hair, boyish grin, full of life and charm and charisma. I was head over heels for him- young and in love. Stupid."

She rolls her eyes again, hand trailing down her face to press against her mouth as she turns to gaze at the half-full coffee pot still clicking and gurgling on the counter, and his breath catches in his chest. He wants to be able reach in, to go back, to fix whatever memory it is that has her so sad, so broken.

"One night just before winter finals we were out on a ride, blowing off steam. Brent had been begging me for months to let him drive. I had, of course. I was nineteen and in love and he was the cute boy who made my knees weak when he smiled." Kate shakes her head, a tiny rueful grin bending up the side of her mouth he can still see. "I swear, he could talk me into just about anything. This one time we were at a concert and he convinced me that sneaking backstage was the absolute best idea I'd ever heard. We ended up drinking all night with the band and woke up on the tour bus the next morning, halfway to their next show."

"Sounds like he was a little wild himself," Rick observes and Kate nods.

"Oh, yeah. But he was also so much more. Smart. Funny. Passionate about medicine. He was going to be a doctor. Wanted to change the world." Kate looks back toward him, her hazel eyes shining in the bright mid-morning light. "Brent was the nicest and most thoughtful guy I had ever met. Looking back, I know it wouldn't have lasted forever, that he and I would have ended up going our separate ways at some point but while I was in it? It -"

"It felt like everything," he supplies when she pauses, seemingly at a loss.

"Yeah. And so of course I let him drive my bike," Kate repeats and he gets the sense that she's spent a long time repeating that justification to herself. "He wanted so badly to take it out on the highway. I'd let him take a couple of spins around parking lots and down side roads before, just basic stuff that everyone does when they're learning. He could handle the bike but he wasn't nearly as skilled a driver as I was. But that night, I finally gave in. It was late, there weren't many cars on the road. I figured it would be - I thought it would be fine."

She falls silent, a tear leaking out of the corner of one eye. Rick holds her hand, fighting against the urge to scoop her up into his arms. To carry her back to the bed and curl up, sleep until they both can forget. But she can't forget. And he knows. He knows that whatever comes next is going to be heart wrenching and tragic. And even though he's over a decade too late, he wants to protect her from it.

But he can't.

So instead he just holds her hand and waits.

"I barely even saw the truck before it hit us," Kate says finally, her voice broken and shoulders rolled forward. "Brent saw it. I know he did because I felt him go stiff. It was bright blue. A Ford. The driver was drunk and just blasted right through a red light."

He can't help himself. Rick scoots closer, his left hand abandoning her leg to stroke her hair. Kate leans into his touch, her body swaying towards his on the stool. She brushes her hand down his forearm, her fingers cold and trembling.

"I woke up out of the coma three days later. Bruised brain, a few cracked ribs, a broken ulna, crushed ankle and compound fracture in my leg." She lists off her injuries and he feels each corresponding part of his own body twitch. Her eyes fall shut again, twin tears breaking free and coasting over her pale cheeks. "I woke up but Brent didn't."

He swallows down the _I'm sorry_ crawling up the back of his tongue. The last thing she needs is his pointless, if heartfelt, apologies.

"I didn't even get to go to his funeral. The doctors wouldn't let me leave the hospital. But his dad came to see me about a week after. He -" Kate swallows, head shaking - "He told me not to blame myself. That it was a tragic accident but that they - his family - knew it wasn't my fault."

It _wasn't_ her fault but he knows she doesn't see it that way.

"The driver got ten years, which is the max for vehicular homicide in California. Everyone saw it as a victory but -" She looks up at him, the anguish in her eyes faded with time but no less real. "It _was_ my fault. If I hadn't brought my bike over, if I hadn't of let him charm me into driving, it wouldn't have happened. I should have been the one driving. I would have been able to control the bike better, to lay it down and get both of us out alive."

"You don't know that," he argues, his tongue antsy from being held for so long. "If you had been driving, it could have been -"

She waves a hand at him, batting away the words he's sure she's heard at least a hundred times by now.

"I know. It could have been me. For a while, I wished it had been."

His hand clenches around at the back of her hair and Kate jerks. Her face softens, the memories flickering out of her eyes. She cradles his neck in her palms, thumbs brushing along the scruffy lines of his jaw.

"It took a lot of therapy, both physical and mental, but I'm okay now, Rick. My parents saw what was happening and made sure I got help. I learned to forgive myself for what happened, even if there will always be a part of me that believes I'm to blame."

Rick takes a shuddering breath. He's not glad a young man's life was ended - stolen - long before its time but, as guilty as it makes him feel, he _is_ glad it wasn't her. Because even after only three weeks, the idea of a world without Kate Beckett isn't one wants to entertain. Not even in the hypothetical.

Kate leans in, her lips brushing feather light against his cheek. He grabs at her, pulling her off the stool and into the space between his spread knees. His arms circle her waist and Kate hums, her fingers soft against his scalp. She trails her other hand over his back, goosebumps breaking out in the wake of her fingertips.

"Let's go back to bed," she whispers, cheek pressed to the top of his head. "I could use a nap."

They make their way back to her bed, hands clasped tight. He crawls in behind her and pulls her body in close, one arm wrapped around her waist. Kate folds her fingers through his, her palm pressed to the back of his hand. She pulls their joined hands up to rest between her breasts and he buries his nose in her hair, breathing deeply.

"Thank you for brunch," she says, dipping her chin to brush a kiss across his knuckles. "It was delicious."

"Any time, Kate," he tells her, eyelids already drooping as he comes down off the emotional rollercoaster of the past fifteen minutes. "Any time."

* * *

He wakes alone.

Rick sits up, blinking into the dimness. Leaning over the side of the bed, he snags his pants off the floor and fishes out his cell. Just after one. Then why -

He looks over his shoulder. Ah. Of course she has blackout curtains.

A satisfied groan rumbles in his chest as he stretches, back arched and arms held high over his head. Rick flexes his toes and ankles, relishing the burn deep inside his muscles. Hours on his feet chasing her around a wedding and then hours - yeah.

Totally worth the aches and pains.

A day's worth of stubble scratches at his palms as he scrubs his hands over his face. Rick makes his way over to the bathroom, left knee popping.

Remembering her comment about the sink, he washes his hands in the kitchen, dragging wet fingers through the sleep-matted mess on the top of his head. The deep clawfoot tub he saw calls his name but he ignores it, opting instead to search for Kate. A bath is always better with company, afterall.

The red light outside her darkroom door brings his search to an abrupt end. Rick knocks and the light flicks off.

"Come on in."

He pushes through the spinning door, the sharp sting of chemicals burning the insides of his nostrils. Soft music floats on the air and Kate smiles at him through the hazy red light, her hair pulled up into a bun and his shirt still hanging off her shoulders. Nine miles of bare legs call his name and he pads over to her, fingers itching to touch.

"How long have you been up?" he asks, chest pressing against her back as she turns again toward the tubs of chemicals.

"Only about half an hour," Kate answers, fingers wrapped around a pair of rubber tipped tongs. She takes a sheet of paper out of one tub and places it in another, swirling it around in the solution. "I woke up with the urge to do a little work."

"Pictures from the wedding?"

Kate shakes her head and he peers over her shoulder, finds his own slack face looking back up at him. His fingers tighten at her hip and Kate looks over her shoulder at him, mouth slanted in a shy smile.

"I hope you don't mind?"

Words fail him. All he can do is shake his head.

"Are you sure? I mean, I know it was kind of an invasion of privacy taking your picture while you were asleep but you just looked so beautiful in the light and I was so happy and I wanted to -"

He cuts her off with a hot kiss, tongue slicking over her bottom lip. Kate moans and turns in his arms, the tongs clattering to the floor. His hands hook under her thighs as she climbs, legs wrapping tightly around his waist. Rick takes them on a controlled descent to the cold concrete floor, hips already rocking in the cradle of her thighs.

* * *

"Well," Kate laughs as she sits up, shirt unbuttoned and hair falling to frame her face, "that was a first."

Rick stands, boxers looped around one ankle, and offers her his hands. "Really? You've never - in here?"

"Nope." Kate grips his palms, lets him pull her up onto her feet. She smiles up at him, lips red and swollen. "You're the first."

"I'm honored?"

Her clear, pure laugh makes his ribs vibrate. "You should be. No other men have ever even been in here. Well, except for Laurent and my dad."

"Hey hey hey," Rick cuts in, hand moving down to cover himself. "If I can't talk about Laurent while I'm kissing you, then you sure as hell can't talk about him and _your father,_ after we just did -" he twirls a finger at the floor - "that."

Lifting up onto her toes, Kate chuckles, pecking a kiss to his lips. "You make a good point."

Shirt still hanging open, Kate turns back to the tubs of developer. She takes out the now-ruined picture of his sleeping face and tosses it into the garbage.

"I'm sorry I ruined your picture," Rick says, even though he's not really. Not even a little.

"No you're not," Kate says, grinning at him over her shoulder as he pulls on his boxers again. "And it's fine. I can always print it again."

"Did -" He stops, not wanting to erase that dopey grin from her face with yet another round of invasive questions.

"What?"

Screw it.

"Did you always want to be a photographer?"

Walking past him, Kate grabs his fingers. She pulls him toward the door, hitting the power button on the stereo and shutting off the light. They push through the rotating door together, hands still clasped. He trails behind her, eyes locked on the sway of her hips.

She pulls him into the bathroom, her fingers dropping from his as she reaches for the brass fixtures on the wall. Water thunders against the bottom of the deep tub and she shrugs off his shirt, letting the limp cotton flutter to the floor. Rick shimmies out of his boxers again as she fixes her bun, tucking away all the fallen strands.

Kate dips her head toward the tub and he climbs in, back cradled by the tall curved wall. She slips in after him, her slim body slotting easily between his spread legs. The water stops and she leans back against him, fingertips drawing patterns over the rippling surface.

"You don't have to -"

"Both of my parents are lawyers," she says and his jaw slams shut. "For most of my life, I thought that was what I wanted to be too. I blame my mom for pushing it on me but it's not entirely her fault." Kate sighs, her head falling back to rest on his shoulder. "I idolized her when I was growing up, Rick. I still do, in a way. And so I wanted to be exactly like her, which meant being a lawyer."

"I bet you would have been a good one," Rick murmurs, his hands smoothing over her stomach.

"She seems to think so. But after the accident, I just realized that wasn't want I really wanted out of my life. I didn't want to spend my time in classrooms and libraries and courtrooms. I wanted - needed - to _see_ the world. To really experience it."

"And so that's where photography came in?"

She nods, her hair tickling the side of his neck.

"I always loved it, even when I was a kid with my little plastic Fisher Price camera." She huffs out a laugh. "I wasn't very good at it, not at first, but there was something about it that just spoke to me. It touched this piece inside of me that I never knew existed before that."

He knows exactly what she means. That same previously unknown part of his own soul came alive the day he wrote his first short story.

"So after I recovered from the accident I dropped out of Stanford, and traveled Europe for a while, taking photos, before deciding to move back to New York and enroll in the New School."

"How did that go over with your parents?"

Kate snorts. "About as well as you can imagine."

"But they've come around, right?"

Kate rocks her head back and forth against his collarbone and he imagines her trying to shake free the right words from her brain.

"My dad's always been amazing about it. He wants to see all my pictures and hear the stories behind them." She smiles, so pure and innocent, and his heart almost cracks in two. "He even has his own miniature version of my portfolio that he likes to foist upon just about everyone he meets."

Seconds tick by and his tongue itches, the base of it tingling with the words he knows he needs to say. The confession she deserves to hear.

"Your mom -"

"She's coming around, I think," Kate says, apparently interpreting his pause as a question. "It's taken a long time, and I know she'd be happier if I had more of what she considers to be stability, but I think she and I might have finally reached some sort of real truce."

The words crumble to ash inside his mouth. Stability. Financially, _personally_. And what's more stable than a middle-aged teacher? He can almost see the strings tied to both of their wrists- Johanna Beckett up above it all, manipulating them, making them dance.

"That's great," he coughs. "Really."

"Yeah. But that's enough about my family drama," Kate declares, her hands reaching for his under the water. She draws her fingertips down his forearms until her own arms wrap around her waist, resting on top of his. "Right now I want to relax here before I convince you to make me another one of those sandwiches."

The water ripples out from his chest as he laughs. He'll tell her eventually. He will.

But for now-

This.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

A series of satisfying pops ripple up Kate's spine as she stretches, toes pointing toward the foot off the bed and hands arching back toward the headboard. Mid morning light leaks in around the edges of the blackout curtains and she sinks back into the mattress, content to stay snuggled in the pile of lightweight blankets. She hasn't felt this relaxed in months.

Her phone pings from - somewhere, and Kate rolls over, pausing to mash her smiling face into pillow on the other side of the bed. _Rick's_ pillow, his scent still lingering from the weekend. The phone pings again and Kate wiggles over until the top half of her body flops over the edge of the mattress, her feet dancing in the air as she searches through the pile of clothes.

A third message has popped up by the time she finds the cell, halfway under her bed and hidden by the lacy scrap of fabric that barely counted as underwear she had purposely worn under her dress Saturday. She flips the phone open as she rolls back to the middle of the bed and tugs the comforter over her head, a childish impulse she doesn't try to fight.

 _Mondays are the worst._

Her teeth sink into her lip in a futile attempt to keep her smile from cracking wide. Just twelve hours ago he had finally forced himself out of her bed and back to his own apartment to prepare for the last week of school and she already misses him.

 _Finals week Mondays are worster._

Kate's brow furrows as she reads the second message. A giggle pops out on the second pass, steaming up her blanket cocoon. Worster.

 _Yes, it is a word. I'm a writer and I say so._

Her eyes roll at that, fingers tapping at the keys with the skilled ease of a texting master rather than that of a novice.

 _Uh huh. Get yourself some more coffee, Mr. Rodgers. Then go mold those young minds._

She pushes send on the text and before she can even flip the phone shut a new message wooshes across her screen.

 _Good morning._

Her bottom lip escapes from the prison of her teeth, her smile breaking free, and she snuggles even further down into the bed, puffing the comforter up with one hand to let in some fresh, cool air.

 _Good morning._

 _I enjoyed this weekend._

Her smile grows even wider, face aching from how used those muscles have been lately.

 _Me too._

 _We should do it again sometime._

His next text comes before she can think of a reply. Before she can attempt to lure him away from the school, convince him to play hooky with her for the rest of the day.

 _Oops. I gotta go, exam time is almost up. Have a good day, Kate._

 _You too._

 _You know if you had a newer phone you could text more than two words at a time._

Rolling her eyes - those muscles have been getting their own workout - Kate flips the phone shut. She throws the comforter off her head, pulling in a deep breath of morning air. Her eyes catch on the piles of bags next to her computer and she sighs.

Time to do some work.

The hem of Rick's dress shirt tickles her thighs when she stands. Feeling like a teenager again, she pulls the collar up to her nose and sniffs. He may have put up a fuss about going home in just his undershirt, but she saw the heated twinkle in his eye when he'd looked back at her from the top of the stairs, the way his fingers clenched around the railing as she stood there wearing nothing but his shirt and a smile. She has no intention of giving it back and she's pretty sure he's okay with that.

Kate slips into a pair of yoga pants and pads into the kitchen. She ignores the mess in the sink, the detritus of their grilled cheese feasts, instead homing in on the coffee pot. She dumps the ingredients in mindlessly, an automatic routine her body has perfected over the years- a pot full of water, and a heaping mound of grounds- but she pauses with her finger on the switch.

Turning on the balls of her feet, she crosses the kitchen and raises on her tiptoes to rifle through the cabinet above the stove. Her triumphant shout bounces off the brick walls as she pulls out the tub of baking chocolate. She pours a teaspoon of the powder in with the coffee and the machine gurgles to life, belching and steaming when her finger flicks the power.

Some days just deserve a little something extra.

The pot puffs and rattles, little spurts of water dribbling down the side to form a pool of water on the countertop. Annoying but a small price to pay for a machine that makes the perfect cup of coffee everytime.

Her eyes scan the apartment as she waits, picking out the little differences even one night with Rick Rodgers has left in its wake. The books on her shelf sit askew from where he riffled through them while loudly deriding her collection of Russian classics. The pair of towels hanging off the rod in her bathroom, the shower curtain he left pulled open in the way she never does because it promotes mold growth, the roll of toilet paper he flipped over just to annoy her after she told that her preference is over. Less than 24-hours and the mark he's left already feels indelible.

When her gaze lands on the rotating door to the darkroom, a flush runs up the length of Kate's neck, singeing the tips of her ears before zinging back down the length of her body, threatening to explode out of her toes. She'll never be able to work in that room again without immediately thinking of him. And his mouth.

Maybe she should start with the digital files, leave the film for sometime… later.

A full mug cradled to her chest, Kate heads over to her desk. She leaves the blackout curtains closed - sunshine and computer screen do not mix, after all - and plops down in her chair, hand already reaching for her camera bag. Fishing the change purse she converted into a memory card holder out from the bottom of a tangle mess of cables and straps, she lets a sigh breeze past her lips. A disaster, as always.

Some cards nestled into cases, some not; full mixed in with empty. She always promises herself that this time she will be more organized with the files, but caught up in the midst of the event- images and moments coming and going in a flash - Most of the time she's just happy to get them all home safely.

Kate plugs a random card into the reader, taking the first sip from her mug as the computer works. Subtle hints of bitter mocha burst on her tongue and she lets the light moan out freely as her legs curl under her in the rolling leather chair. The computer trills and Kate's eye pop open, breath catching in her throat as the pictures populate the screen.

These aren't hers.

They aren't those of a professional. They lack the finesse, the finer points of lighting and framing, but the innate creative spirit - _talent_ \- shines despite the missing polish. She clicks through the images slowly, snapshots of flowers and place settings, the wedding arch and reflecting pool. Halfway through her own face stares back her- eyes shining and smile wide, a camera in her hands and the city at her back. She knows that look, she saw it reflected back at her from the bride, the groom, countless others at the wedding.

From Rick.

Pulling the card from the reader, she shuts down the computer and bolts out of the chair, scampering toward the shower without another thought. Work can wait. She has more important things to do today.

* * *

The mechanical chime on the door of bookstore pings as she pushes inside, the blast from the air conditioner making her loose shirt flutter. Kate curls a stray lock of hair behind her ear, fingers running over the hurried mess of her french braid as the musty smell of old pages assaults her nose.

She tried the usual places already- a chain store followed by a series of used and rare book stores. Nothing. This one- described to her as a booklover's' paradise tucked away in the bowels of Brooklyn- was a recommendation from the proprietor of the previous shop and her last ditch effort before giving up and turning to search engines and online shopping conglomerates.

Books and vinyl records overflow from the shelves, spilling into piles on the tables and floors, filling cardboard boxes shoved under the wooden tables. Kate runs her fingers over a vintage typewriter as she rounds a corner, the stacks looming over her head threatening to swallow her whole in a sea of paper and ink. But oh what a way to go.

The Literature section sits tucked away in the far corner. At least this place has them in alphabetical order by author; the last two stores has been a free for all. If a copy of the book had been in there chances are it was lost for all eternity in a sea of Nora Roberts and James Patterson.

Kate runs her finger along the line of "R"s. The name Rodgers pops up on the third shelf from the bottom and she sucks her lip between her teeth. Alice, Allan, George, Linda, Nicholas. She reaches the last book on the bottom shelf and stands, back popping as she straightens up to her tip toes, body stretching to reach the top row of the next shelf. Raymond, Regina, Richard.

Kate's heart leaps in her chest and she lets out a grunt as she jumps, one hand braced on the shelf, the other reaching for the single hardback book bearing the right name. Her finger hooks into the top on her third hop and she wobbles, barely managing to stop herself from stumbling into the table behind her as she pulls it from the shelf.

 _Shoot the Moon_ by Richard Rodgers.

Her fingers run over the title, the name adorning the bottom of the twenty year old dust jacket. She flips to the back, heart hammering in her chest until her eyes land on Rick's eyes - younger but no less blue - staring back at her. This is it. She found it. Her own smile breaks free and it takes everything in her not to skip across the store to the lone attendant manning the front desk.

"Did you find everything you were looking for today?"

Kate nods at the young girl, thumping the copy of Rick's book down on the patch of bare countertop next to the register. "I did, thank you."

The girl - Abby, according to her hand lettered name tag - flips it around, eyes scanning the title before she opens it up to read the penciled in price tag on the title page. Kate waits for some kind of recognition from her - good or bad - but she just slips in a store-branded bookmark and lets the front cover fall shut again. The ancient cash register dings with her total and something inside her check aches as she hands over a ten dollar bill.

All of his passion, all of his talent, reduced to less than eight dollars.

Abby hands back her change and reaches for a plastic bag, repurposed from a grocery store by the look of it. Kate waves her off, reaching for the book with greedy fingers.

"I don't need a bag."

"Okay," Abby says, stuffing the plastic back into a larger bag. "Enjoy your book."

"I will, thanks," Kate responds with a smile as she heads for the door.

She hugs the book to her breast, the edges of the cover leaving dents in her forearms as she hustles down the sidewalk. The weight of it gives her a strange sort of comfort. She's always loved heavy books, their spines bulging with the potential of the story awaiting her inside. When she was a teenager, she made a point of never reading anything that clocked in at fewer than three hundred pages. She's come to see the merit of thinner volumes - of a story told briefly and well - but she still prefers the longer, heftier reads.

A tiny park near the entrance to the subway station calls to her. Kate flops down on a bench, cracks open the cover, and the world fades away as she begins to read.

* * *

The ear-piercing shriek of a toddler pulls her back to reality. Kate blinks, the ghosts of neat little rows of black letters lingering inside her eyelids. The fingers of one hand holding her place in the book, she fishes her cell out with the other and checks the time. Almost two.

Rolling her shoulders back to stretch out her spine, Kate slips the free bookmark in between the pages and wedges the book into her bag. Her stomach growls and she laughs, memories of Rick and their morning together pouring into her mind. The urge to talk to him overtakes her and she doesn't even fight it, flipping her cell phone opened with a quick pop of her thumb.

The screen doesn't light up. Kate moves the phone back and forth, in and out of the sun, willing the digital display to bathe her in its sickly green light. She shakes it, slaps it against the palm of her hand, closes and reopens the lid. Nothing.

Son of a bitch.

Forgetting about the food, she strikes out down the sidewalk, heading to her cell provider's closest store, her stomach in knots for the entire twenty block walk.

* * *

The low brick wall scratches at her back but Kate barely registers the sensation, her focus split between the shiny new iPhone in her hand and the set of double doors just up the sidewalk. She presses at the smooth glass screen, holding down until all the little icons jiggle like the young man - Aaron - in the store had shown her. She rearranges them for the fifth time, trying to find an order that is both functional and aesthetically pleasing.

A notification bar pops up across the top of the phone, disappearing before she can read the whole thing. She finds the messages app - should probably keep that one right at the top - and opens it, her heart flipping when she sees the R next to the message. She should really get a picture of him to put there. Another trick Aaron had explained.

 _Are you busy? I'm almost free of this hell hole and wanted to call. Of course, you're probably up to your beautiful neck in developer in the darkroom and won't even see this until after midnight._

Giggling, Kate navigates through the required series of taps to dial his number. She holds the phone up to her ear, the bulk of it strange against her palm.

"So you're not up to your neck in developer then?"

"Nope," Kate answers, arm crossed over her stomach and eyes locked on the doors. "I decided to play hooky today. Was too happy to work."

"I wish I could use that excuse," Rick whines and she can almost see the adorable protrusion of his bottom lip. "I'm pretty sure the headmaster has never been happy a day in his life, though, so I don't think it would fly."

"Well, if he'd had the weekend we did maybe he'd be a little more understanding."

She hears the snick of a door handle and her heart rate kicks up a notch.

"Katherine Beckett," he scolds in a harsh whisper, "are you offering to seduce my boss in order to get me out of work?"

Her abdomen actually aches a little from the force of her laugh.

"Do you think it'd work?"

He hums, low and dirty, and her toes curl against the soft insoles of her sandals.

"If you did that thing with your hand? Absolutely. He'd probably let me off for a whole semester."

The heavy metal door creaks and Kate smiles, everything inside her midsection swooping at the sight of him. Rick stops at the top step, lips spreading out in a slow grin. He ends the call and shoves the phone into his pocket, galloping down the steps and up the sidewalk.

Kate doesn't even have time to slip her phone into her bag before he's on her, one arm wrapping around her waist and a hand cupping the side of her neck. He kisses her like a man dying of thirst, lips soft yet insistent as he drinks from hers. She sinks into his chest, her knees weak and hand pressed against his chest.

"Well hello to you too," Kate breathes when he finally pulls back, chest heaving.

"Sorry," Rick pants, one shoulder lifting in a half-hearted shrug. "I just really missed you today, as stupidly Nicholas Sparks as that sounds."

She pats her hand against his pec, fingers stilled wrapped around her phone. "I missed you too."

The softness in his eyes when he looks at her makes her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. Kate swallows and he leans in again, feathering his lips over hers. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes from the gentle perfection of it all and she blinks the away, refusing to share quite that much in common with a character out of a romance novel.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you," Rick says when they pull back for the second time, "because I am, but what are you doing here? I mean, unless you're here to actually seduce Headmaster Washington because then we'd have a couple of things to discuss, the first being why you didn't tell me you had a teleporter."

Lifting onto her toes, she pecks another kiss to his mouth. Just because she can. Because she wants to.

"I just thought maybe we could have dinner?"

"Dinner would be -"

He stops, fingers wrapping around her wrist, his eyes wide. Kate smothers a giggle as he looks back and forth between her and the iPhone clutched in her hand.

"Who are you and what have you done with Kate?"

Her free hand bounces off his bicep in a playful smack. "Shut up. It was time, okay?"

"It's okay," Rick says, releasing her wrist and wrapping an arm around her waist. He leads her out onto the sidewalk, guiding them away from the school and into the crowd of pedestrians. "I know you got it because of me."

He jumps when she pinches his love handle.

"My old one died."

"Sure it did, Kate." He winks at her. "Sure it did."

"It did," she insists, dodging a puddle of spilled coffee on the sidewalk. "I'd show it to you but I let the place take it to be refurbished and sent to a developing country."

Rick clucks his tongue. "A likely story."

"A _true_ story," Kate chuckles. "My mother has been on me for years to buy a smartphone and I've held out. Like I'd rush out and buy one just because my boyfriend wanted me to."

They stop at a crosswalk and Rick looks down at her, hair flopping over his forehead and eyes twinkling.

"Your boyfriend?"

"Uh - I mean, yeah? If that's what you -"

His kisses her, sweet and full of so many things she doesn't have the words for yet. Things she might not ever.

"I'll be happy to be your boyfriend," Rick whispers, ignoring the push of the crowd around them.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, straightening and leading her across the street when the light turns. "Although that definitely puts the kibosh on the whole sleeping with my boss thing."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

There are few things Rick loves more than Prospect Park at dusk, summer buzzing all around. The dying light filters through the trees, making them glow from the inside out, and the heat relaxes its grip as a light breeze flows in to cool the earth. Grass, thin and soft, tickles along the exposed sides of his feet. No obligations, no deadlines. Not a single reason to rush. Perfection.

Perfection made all the more - well, perfect by the woman gliding along at his side, the hem of her lilac sundress loose around her thighs and a pair of Jackie O sunglasses riding high on the bridge of her nose. Rick swings his arm back and forth, his loose grip on Kate's fingers taking her along for the ride.

"No more pencils, no more books, no more ungrateful teenagers texting during my lectures," he sing-songs and she laughs, the curling ends of her ponytail brushing along her bare shoulders as her head shakes.

"I don't think that's how it goes."

"I took a little creative liberty and updated it for our modern times," Rick says, leaning down to press his grin against her cheek. "I'm a writer, I can do that."

He can just see the arch of one eyebrow over the top of the oversized frames.

"You really like to use that 'I'm a writer' thing as an excuse for your ridiculousness, don't you?"

"Maybe, but you think my ridiculousness is charming so -" He shrugs one shoulder, reaching over to sneak the dripping ice cream cone from her hand. Lifting it up to his lips, he takes a long lick, grinning at her around the tip of the swirl of strawberry softserve. "I win."

"You win the jackass contest," Kate huffs, grabbing for her dessert but Rick stretches out his arm, holding the cone just out of her grasp. "Hey -" one sandaled foot with its perfectly painted toes stamps at his - "just because you got scared and dropped _your_ ice cream doesn't mean you get to steal mine."

"One, I was not scared -"

"Yes, you were."

"- I was being cautious. That bird was flying right at my head. I had to do something."

"And your first instinct was to shriek in terror and hide behind me? My hero."

She delivers the jab in a dry deadpan but the twitch at the corner of her lips gives her away, the smile she's working so hard to repress straining to escape.

"You didn't see the look in its beady little eyes. The bastard wanted to peck my face off." He raises their joined hands and draws a circle around his head with his index finger. " _My face_ , Kate. You like my face."

Her smile breaks free and he can only imagine the eyeroll happening behind those dark lenses.

"Yeah, I suppose I do."

Rick leads them toward an empty bench. Kate sits down next to him, her ever-present satchel resting on her lap, and crosses her legs, the loose back of her sandal slapping against her heel as she flexes her toes. He offers her the cone and she takes it with a playful glare, her shoulder pressing against his side when he stretches his arm out along the back of the wooden seat.

"What was your two?"

Rick blinks, forcing his attention away from the way her lips hug the tip of her ice cream.

"Huh?"

Kate swallows and offers him the cone, the tips of her fingers sticky with melted ice cream. "You said 'One, I was not scared'. What was your two?"

Ignoring the growing pink puddle on his thigh, Rick leans in and presses his lips to hers, licking the sweet taste of strawberry from the corner of her mouth. Kate sighs and sinks further into him. The cone wavers in the corner of his eye and Rick reaches up to grab it just before it topples from her slack fingers.

"Two," he grins, lips still brushing hers, "sharing is caring."

They finish the cone together, passing it back and forth while they watch the world rush by. Rick spins stories for the passersby and Kate pulls out her camera. She takes a picture of an old woman feeding squirrels, clouds lit up with the technicolor sunset, a fat brown dog in a stroller. He watches her, trying to decipher her pattern. What draws her to one image over another.

He knows better than to ask. She won't be able to tell him, no more than he could tell her why some of his characters speak to him more clearly than others. Sometimes the best things about art are unexplainable.

Tucking her camera into her lap, Kate leans her head against his shoulder. Her hands flutter - straightening the hem of her skirt, picking a piece of lint off his pants, buckling and unbuckling the flap on her bag. The fidgeting goes on for minutes before he reaches out with his free hand, stilling hers.

"What's going on?"

Her soft sighs makes ripples down the front of his cotton t-shirt.

"I have something to tell you."

The persistent knot in his chest tightens. Rick takes a deep breath, his lungs fighting to expand. Kate wraps her fingers around his and the grip anchors him, helps him pull in the air he needs.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure you're going to like it," she hedges, picking at the dry skin along the edge of his thumbnail. "It might upset you."

A curiously cold heat blooms low in his abdomen. No. He can handle this. Whatever life altering revelation she is going to drop, he can sure as hell catch. With a deep breath he pushes the words out, proud when his voice doesn't waver like his gut.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, Kate."

She lifts her body off his, twisting her torso to look into his face and sliding her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, and he wants nothing more than to pull her back against him- safe, secure. Solid. Her eyes glow almost golden in the dying light and she locks them on his. Kate pulls in a shaky breath and the anxiety that makes her body tremble seeps out through her fingers, into his. It creeps up his arm and threatens to seize his heart, halted only by the sound of her voice, still calm when she speaks.

"I read your book."

The urge to vomit hits him hard as the anxiety lunges for his heart once more, the ice cream in his stomach turning sour.

"You - You did what?"

"I read your book," Kate repeats, her tone even and he can't decide if he wants to kiss her or strangle her. This is not the time for calm, at least not for him.

"Where did you - How - It's not in print."

"I know. I found it at a used book store. You didn't tell me the name so I had to do some digging but -" Kate shrugs one shoulder, the corners of her mouth turned down in a self-conscious frown. "I wanted to read it."

His tongue feels thick and foreign against the roof of his mouth. Swallowing, Rick nods, his head bobbing on his neck like a tacky Hawaiian doll on a the dashboard of a cab. The skin on his scalp crawls and he opens his mouth only to pop it right back closed again.

"Rick - "

It must have taken her hours, days, to track down a copy of that god forsaken book. No one - _no one -_ had ever even asked let alone…

"What did you think of it?"

The words are out before he can stop them and he finds himself holding his breath because the story is awful. He knows it is, has heard it from multiple sources. Powerful sources, important sources. But if he hears it from her, this woman with all of her talent and creative spirit, if she confirms it then -

"I liked it."

His eyes roll of their own volition, hand pulling away from hers as he scoffs. Kate tightens her grip, refusing to let him go, and he looks up at her, scanning her face for any trace of pity.

"Stop," she says, still in that measured tone, the once upon a time lawyer making an appearance. "I liked the book, Rick. That's not to say that it didn't have a some issues. The prose was a little belabored and -"

"Pretentious."

" - the plot -"

"What there was of one, you mean."

" - was fairly cookie cutter 'white guy has a mid-life crisis' but," she carries on, ignoring his interjections, "the bones of the writing itself are good, Rick. The characters are fleshed out and real, the dialogue is sharp. As for the other stuff - most of the problems are just as much the fault of your editor as yours." She squeezes his hand, her thumb pressed hard into the meat at the base of his palm. "It's very clear to me that someone with real talent wrote that novel. Young talent that needed to be edited and polished, but talent nonetheless. I wish you could see it the way I do. That you could be proud of it."

His eyes burn as he stares at her. Kate stares back, unblinking, the truth of her words written plainly across her face. She really did like it. Thinks it's worth something.

That _he_ is worth something.

Without speaking, Rick stands, turning to pluck the camera from her lap, tucking it into the bag before hanging the long strap off his own shoulder. Her eyebrows furrowed, Kate stands next to him when he tugs on her hand, following as he turns to lead her down the path and out of the park.

* * *

"Okay," Kate huffs from behind him, "this whole not talking thing was cute at first but it's gotten kinda old." She tugs on his hand, pulling his arm back. "What the hell is going on?"

Keys in hand, he keeps walking, pulling her along in his wake. Ricks opens the door to his apartment and guides her inside. He hits the lights and drops her bag on the coffee table.

"Rick, seriously -"

"Sit down," he says, pointing at the couch. "I'll be right back."

"No." Kate stands in the middle of his tiny living room, her face a strange mix of concern and frustration. "Tell me what's going on here. Are you that mad that I read your book?"

His free hand comes up to cup her flushed cheek. She sways into the touch and he leans in, presses his mouth to the slope of her frown.

"Sit down," he repeats, softer this time, lips still brushing hers. "Please. I have something to show you."

Kate drops onto the old brown couch, her spine straight and eyes wary. He can't really blame her, not after the silent ten block power walk he just dragged her on. But he - He had to do this before he lost his nerve. Holding up one hand in supplication, Rick backs out of the living room.

"I'll be right back."

He jogs over to the closet. Reaching up over his head, he grabs one handle of a battered banker's box on the top shelf and tugs, stumbling backward from the weight. The closet door stands ajar as he heads back toward the living room. Toward Kate.

Her eyes track him from the moment he appears back in her line of sight, focus jumping back and forth between his face and the box pressed against his stomach. The coffee table creaks a little when he sets it down, the musty smell of old cardboard wafting up.

"I'm not mad that you read my book, Kate." Rick circles around to sit down next to her, reaching out for her hand. The slide of her fingers against his palm calms the painful churn deep in his gut. "I'm amazed. That you wanted to, that you found it, that you actually read the whole ridiculous thing."

"It's not ridiculous," she insists, her shoulders dropping as her spine finally loosens. "I know you can't see it but it's not."

"You're right," he confirms with a nod. "I can't see it. When I think of it, all I can remember was what was wrong. All I can feel is the pain of having my dreams shatter."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs, scooting closer until their hips are pressed together. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I try not to trade in cliches very often but - what's past is past. There's nothing I can do to change it. But that's not -" Rick rests his free hand on the creased and bent lid of the box. "You remember when I told you about the book, I said that I had a few other manuscripts?"

He looks up when she fails to answer and finds her watching him wide-eyed. A faint blush races up to tinge her cheeks and her head bobs in a quick nod. A repeat of a previous one he assumes, based on her unwarranted embarrassment.

"Well-" he stalls, taking off the lid and tilting the open top of the box toward her. His lungs seize as she scoots forward, lip caught between her teeth, tentative fingers reaching almost in slow motion for the reams of paper inside. "These are them. Some of them, anyway."

Kate snatches her hand back, the other coming up to meet it. They fall to her lap and she curls her fingers into her skirt, eyes lifting to meet his.

"Can I?" Her chin dips toward the table. "I mean is it okay?"

"Of course. I'd like you to read one, Kate. I- I trust you." The words leave him in a rush and he's amazed to hear the strength of his own declaration. He does trust her. Trusts her to tell him the truth about his words. He trusts her more than anyone else. Ever. He wants her true opinion- raw, brutal. "I mean, if you want to. I won't force you -"

The hot press of her lips cuts him off. She's gone as quickly as came, her focus back on the pile of stories in the box. One by one, Kate pulls them out, fingers running over the title before placing it on the coffee table and diving in for the next manuscript.

"The ones at the bottom are the oldest," he rambles over the twisting gurgle of his gut. "Probably about five years. There's another box under my bed with even older ones but you really don't want to read those."

Kate cuts her eyes at him, hands clutched firmly around one of the manuscripts. The bound stack of paper thumps against her thighs when she drops it into her lap. She reaches up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking over his chin. His eyelids flutter and she goes out of focus, a halo of artificial light radiating out from behind her head.

"You're a good writer, Rick," she tells him and he swallows back the instinctive rebuttal. "Maybe even a great one. I want to read your words. All of them. Okay?"

He nods, tongue glued to the roof of his dry mouth.

Hand falling away from his face, she bobs her own head in a decisive little nod before picking up the pages in her lap and flipping open the cover. Pressure builds up in his chest as her eyes travel over the words, a wave of nervous energy threatening to burst open the dam of his ribs.

"Okay," he says, the cresting wave carrying the words up and out of his mouth. "That one is a little rough. The main character is a CIA agent in exile but my research was a little lacking - for obvious reasons; there are some things you just don't Google unless you want to end up on a government watch list. - so the realism took a major hit."

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

Kate smiles and flips the page, never looking up. "Will you be quiet? I'm trying to read."

Quiet. He can do that.

His eyes scan the room as she flips another page, her nails scraping against the paper. His cheeks burn at the sight of the basket of laundry perched on the kitchen counter, a loan sock dangling over the edge, and the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. He takes a deep breath and the staleness in the air has his nose crinkling. Kate's first time in his apartment and he didn't even have the wherewithal to spritz some air freshener or open a window, much less clean up a little. _Something_ to show her he's not a complete middle aged bachelor cliché.

Kate shifts in her spot, a finger falling to a line in the middle of the page. Her brow crinkles as she retraces the words before moving on, and his teeth sink into his tongue. He can do quiet. He can. He c-

He can't.

"I know the main female character is pretty two-dimensional and sort of a 'dumb blonde' type but I promise I've gotten better since then." He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the dark doorway to his bedroom. "The most recent one I'm working on has a female protagonist. A cop. Homicide detective, actually. She's smart and amazing at her job and there's so much about her that I want to explore that I'm thinking I might want to start a series -"

The manuscript hits the coffee table with a smack and Rick jumps, his heart leaping up next to his adam's apple. A whirl of lilac fills his vision and suddenly his arms are full of Kate, her body warm and soft as she presses up against his chest, her knees nestled on either side of his hips. Teeth scrape over his bottom lip and he grunts, neck arching back to seek more of the delicious pain.

"I guess," she husks, one hand slipping into his hair as the other slides down his chest; her fingers hook into his waistband and his hips jerk, entire body surging up into hers, "if you won't let me read in peace, I'm just going to have to find a way to shut you up."

She thumbs open the button on his shorts, nimble fingers working their way inside, and Rick groans, his own hands reaching up to run over her back, searching for the tab of her zipper. The metal teeth release and the bodice of her dress falls, revealing the smooth skin of her chest. It calls out to him and he willingly answers, leaning forward to skim damp lips over the smattering of freckles across her sternum.

"Do your worst," he breathes, watching the goosebumps rise up out of her skin.

Kate laughs, low and sexy, and his hands fist in the loose material at her waist.

"I think," she whispers, pressing her mouth next to his ear, her hips rolling like a wave in the cradle of his palms, "you'd prefer my best."

* * *

Sharp pain low in his abdomen pulls him up from a dreamless sleep. Rolling out of bed, Rick pads into the bathroom. He relieves himself and runs his hands under the tap in an automatic routine, never bothering to even reach for the light switch before ambling back out into the bedroom.

He's about to tumble back into bed, brain still fuzzy with sleep, when the bare expanse of mattress stops him in his tracks.

He sways on the spot, the cold fingers of dread skittering down his spine jolting him awake. Only the pale purple puddle of her dress, half the skirt splayed out under the bed, restarts his heart. He grabs a fresh pair of boxers out of the dresser and hops into them on his way to the door.

The single syllable of her name stalls halfway up his throat when he sees her there, tucked into the corner of the couch, legs stretched out and a pillow balanced on her thighs, one of his manuscripts spread out across the top. She flips the page, eyes flying over the lines of text as she devours the story.

Standing in the shadows, he watches. The flick of her tongue over the tip of her finger before she turns the page, the mindless way she twirls one lock of hair around and around. His t-shirt hangs off her body, the plain cotton made luxurious simply by virtue of being against her skin. Her bottom lip rolls up over her teeth, incisors sinking in and blanching the pink skin white, and he can't help himself.

Kate jumps when he drags the tip of one finger up along the arch of her left foot. She slams a hand down onto the open pages in her lap, keeping them from sliding to the floor, and looks up at him with glassy eyes.

"Sorry," he gruffs, throat scratchy with sleep. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Yes, you did," Kate chuckles as he scoops up her ankles.

Dropping down on the couch next to her, he drapes her calves over his lap and shrugs. Her toes curl as he draws random patterns over the tops of her feet, her skin cool against his fingertips.

"How long have you been up?"

She ruffles the ridge of pages she's read, mentally calculating. "Couple of hours, maybe. What time is it?"

"Three-ish."

"Then, yeah," Kate nods, her eyelids drooping, "it's definitely been a couple of hours."

Circling one slender foot with his hands, Rick works his thumbs into the muscles along the arch. She lets out a soft moan and he grins, pressing hard against her heel.

"You couldn't sleep?"

She taps a finger against the pages on her lap. "I told you I wanted to read."

"It'll still be there in the morning."

"It _is_ morning," she rebuts, her lips curling up into a sleepy smile.

Rick pinches her pinky toe. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I - I -I -" One hand lifts to cover her mouth as she yawns, her jaw cracking with the force of it. "I was only going to read a little but -" She shrugs, the neck of his shirt falling off one shoulder. "I got sucked in."

Something that might be pride blooms inside his chest. She crawled out of bed at one in the morning to read his book. Wow.

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Kate confirms with a smile, her sleepy eyes soft and warm. "This is good, Rick. _Really_ good. Has no one else ever told you that?"

"No one else has ever read it," he confesses and her head cocks to one side, eyebrows meeting in an adorable furrow. "Well, other than me."

"No one?"

Rick shakes his head. "I just - I couldn't do it. Not after everything."

Pulling her feet from his lap, Kate puts the open manuscript on the coffee table and leans forward. She brushes her nose along the side of his, her warm breath bathing his chin and the tips of her fingers playing over the jumping muscles of his chest. He wraps an arm around her waist and she shifts onto her knees, body sinking into his.

"Thank you," she whispers, lips feathering over his cheek. "For letting me be the first."

He wants to return the sentiment. To thank her for her passion and her faith and for the way she makes him feel like he can be more than who he is. Wants to thank her for the way his heart skips a beat when she says his name and how her lips fit so perfectly against his and for the strength he gains simply by holding her hand. But the words stay lodged in his throat, stuck behind the boulder of pure emotion he can't seem to swallow.

Kate brushes a kiss to his mouth and a hum vibrates inside his ribcage. The boulder shifts, a corner sliding off, letting the words slip up through the pass and off his tongue.

"Thank you," he murmurs, fingers threading through the curtain of her hair, "for wanting to." He presses his lips to hers, welcoming the comforting weight of her against his chest. Her jaw flexes against his thumb, closed lips straining to contain her yawn. "Come on, let's go back to bed. The story will still be here later."

"Will you actually let me read it uninterrupted later?" Kate huffs even as she slips off of his lap and holds out her hands.

"Depends," he tosses back with a sly grin as he grips her palms and pulls himself up off of the couch. "You have any other tricks to help shut me up?"

She hums an affirmative as he wraps her in a hug from behind, the two of them lumbering toward the bed like an an awkward four-legged bear.

"One or two, but I'm not sure if I should use them just yet. I wouldn't want to make it seem like you're being rewarded for bad behavior."

"Guess you might not get much reading done then," he rumbles in response, nose nuzzling the spot behind her ear that he discovered makes her go weak in knees.

"Oh, I don't know about that. That roll of duct tape I found in your nightstand might come come in handy." Kate spins in his arms, the backs of her thighs hitting the edge of the mattress and a coy smile tilting at her mouth. "In more ways than one."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Heat radiates from the sidewalk, baking the tops of her feet and bare shins. With one finger, Kate pushes her sunglasses back up the slick slope of her nose for the tenth time since she climbed up out of the subway exit. Sweat rolls down the valley of her spine and she adjusts the strap of her bag, idly wishing that just this one time she would have left the damn thing at home.

A food cart half a block up catches her eye and Kate quickens her pace, the rubber soles of her sandals slapping against the cement. Panting a little, she approaches the window and orders a large fresh-squeezed lemonade, hand already rummaging in the side pocket of her bag for her wallet. The hinges of her jaw clench in anticipation as she passes over a five dollar bill and watches the clear plastic cup fill, little bits of lemon pulp bumping up against the chucks of ice.

Her cell phone rings just as she takes the first sip. Tongue curling from the deliciously cool tartness, Kate fishes the phone out of the pocket of her skirt, the protective rubber case soft against her palm. The surprise picture she'd taken of her parents at lunch last week - both of them giving the iPhone in her hand looks of utter bewilderment - flashes up at her from the screen and she swipes her thumb across it, internally giggling at the memory of her mother's complete shock at her technological upgrade.

"Hey, Mom," Kate says, bringing the phone up to her ear.

"Actually, it's me, Katie." Her father's low voice is a shock against her eardrum. "Your mom will be in here in a minute. I've got you on speaker, though, so she can probably hear you from the kitchen."

"Her hearing _is_ rather bat-like," Kate retorts, hoping the teasing lilt of her voice manages to cover her rapidly rising anxiety.

Historically, calls from her parents on speakerphone have been for one of two purposes: the gentle delivery of bad news or a detailed description of yet another of her mother's fool proof plans to meddle in her only daughter's life with her poor dad there in his never ending role as mediator. Either way it's not good. But she takes her cue from her father's relaxed tones, swallows down the series of questions creeping up the sides of her throat.

"You know this, Katherine," her mother calls, the words barely more than an echo, "and yet that never stopped you from trying to tiptoe out of the house at one AM."

"She had to try," Jim laughs. "Typical teenage boundary pushing. It's natural."

"Your father has been watching a lot of daytime television since his retirement," Johanna says, her voice getting louder. Kate hears the squeak of metal wheels and she smiles, picturing her parents sitting in their home office, their desks butted up against one another, an outdated Panasonic phone between them. "He thinks he's Dr. Phil now."

"The man gives good advice."

"The man is a crackpot."

"Not that I'm not enjoying this adorable bickering of yours, because I totally am," Kats cuts in; a bead of sweat drips off the bottom of her cup and she swears she can almost hear it sizzle on the sidewalk, "but I'm assuming it's not the entire reason you called?"

"We just got back from the doctor's office," Johanna says, all the light playfulness dropping from her tone. "Your father has some news."

A fist seizes Kate's stomach and the toe of her sandal catches on the sidewalk. Her elbows jut out as she stumbles, and she catches herself on the corner of a building. The brick scrapes at her bare shoulder blades at she leans back against it, heart in her throat.

"Dad?" Her voice cracks, the tears already forming. "What's wrong?"

"Good Lord, Johanna. You've got the girl thinking I'm about to drop dead," her dad tsks and Kate's muscles loosen. "I'm not, Katie. There's nothing wrong that hasn't been wrong for a few years."

"Your knee?"

Her dad hums an affirmative. "Your mother and Dr. Ackerman have finally joined forces and badgered me into getting the damn thing replaced."

"He's leaving out the part where he can't bend his knee to get in and out of chairs anymore and how it takes him about twenty minutes to get out of bed in the morning."

"Is it really that bad?"

Her parents answer in unison.

"Yes."

"No."

Kate lets out a shaky laugh, the ice in her cup rattling along with her ribs. "I think I'm going to have to believe Mom on this one."

"You always were a mama's girl," her dad huffs and Kate rolls her eyes. She's a daddy's girl through and through and they all know it. "But she's still exaggerating. It doesn't take me twenty minutes. More like ten."

"As though that's any better," Johanna butts in. "He's needed this surgery for years but kept putting it off and now he's - "

"So glad I have a loving wife to take care of me," Jim finishes. "Even when I don't necessarily think I need it. A knee shouldn't need replacing when I haven't done a damn thing to injure it. It's the principle."

"You're old, Jim," Her mother retorts and Kate covers her laugh with a cough. "Get over it. At least it's just your knee, not your heart."

"Only because you force me to eat bran every morning."

"You're welcome."

"When's the surgery?" Kate cuts in before her parents' bickering gets too off topic like it tends to do. A mental image of her calendar flashes against the backs of her eyelids as she pushes off the wall and starts walking again. "I have weddings to shoot for the next three weekends but I can try to get a colleague to take at least one of them if needed."

"Oh, it isn't going to be for a couple of months yet," her dad answers. "Gotta go through all the insurance rigamarole first."

"You'll let me know when? I'll make sure I have some time off to come help."

"Of course," Johanna says. "It probably won't be until well into the Fall but I'll make sure you know as soon as we do."

"Thanks, Mom."

Kate pulls in a deep breath, relief buzzing in her oxygenated veins. It's been years since she and her mother could get through a single five minute conversation without some sort of argument cropping up. But ever since that truce dinner - Maybe things really have turned around.

Just as quickly as the calm set in, guilt ignites at the edges of her conscience. She and Rick have been together for going on six weeks, at least talking, if not seeing each other every day and she has yet to even utter a syllable about him to her parents. But in her defense her mother hasn't brought up men and Kate has been enjoying being able to focus on conversations about other aspects of life. The fact that Rick feels like a nice safe bubble, and, despite all the evidence to the contrary, she wakes every morning with a moment of worry that the bubble could burst is irrelevant. Really.

"So, Katie, how are you?"

Her mother's voice pulls her out of her memory of the look of adoration in Rick's eyes when she woke earlier this morning to his creepy staring, and back to the present.

"Good. I'm good. I'm actually on my way to the gallery right now. Laurent called earlier and said he has some news."

Once again she leaves out the anecdote about Laurent's phone call to her landline setting off a fresh volley of teasing from her boyfriend about her luddite tendencies. This isn't the time or the place. That conversation is one better had in person. Later. When she and Rick are more… established.

"Oh?" Her father replies over the line. "Good news?"

"I don't know," Kate huffs, the heat making her more annoyed with Laurent's coyness than she would usually be. "He wouldn't say. You know how Laurent loves a big reveal."

Both of her parents chuckle and Kate's eyes roll as she sips her drink, taking a moment to relish the temporary relief from the blazing heat of summer.

"Did you want to stop by for dinner after?" Johanna asks. "You can fill us in on the mysterious news and and enjoy the lasagna I'm making in an effort to stop your father from pouting too terribly much about the diet he's about to have to go on before his surgery."

"The rabbit food she's about to force me to eat for six months, she means."

"Um, I have dinner plans tonight." With the boyfriend they know nothing about _and_ his mother. The knife of guilt in her gut twists a quarter turn more. "Maybe later this week?

"That sounds good," her mother says and Kate can hear the pages of her desk calendar flipping. "Just let us know. And also let us know a good time to come up to the gallery and see the exhibit. I know you're busy but we'd really like to have the guided tour."

Kate smiles and nods her head, a blush of childish embarrassment heating up her cheeks. No matter how old she gets, there will always be equal parts of her that are both flustered and uplifted by the pride her parents take in her. Even in her thirties, their approval lessens the weight she carries; the load becoming even lighter now that her mother has been putting in the effort, Kate working to meet her halfway. Balance.

"Of course. Like I said, I have a few weddings lined up that will take up most of my time but I'll be sure to show you around before it closes."

The doors of gallery stand before her and Kate leans back against the wall, taking one last drag on her drink until all that remains are little pebbles of ice she's sorely tempted to fish out and crunch between her molars.

"I gotta go," Kate says, returning Laurent's wave through the glass front of the gallery. "Lauret looks like he might explode if I don't let him tell me this news soon. Let me know about the surgery, Dad."

"I will, Katie. Love you."

"Love you both, too." Kate signs off, pressing the red button to end the call after her mother's return sentiment spills from the speaker.

Empty cup tucked into the crook of her elbow, Kate pulls open the door to the gallery and slips inside, her entire body sighing in relief at the blast of air conditioned air. Goosebumps rise up along the back of her neck, the bodice of her dress sticking to the sweaty plane of her back. She doesn't even have time to pull in a breath before Laurent appears at her side, his white hair ruffled by the breeze from the vent.

"Katherine! You are here!"

She holds up a hand and Laurent stops gracefully next to her, his long arms spread wide.

"Too hot for hugging."

"Judging by the lovely stain of purple on your neck," Laurent grins, one bony finger pointing at the base of her throat and a smile playing along his lips, "it is not too hot for things other than hugging."

The lemonade cup clatters to the floor as Kate slaps a hand to her chest, thumb riding in the groove between her collar bones. Her skin flares under the touch and she feels the blush of embarrassment shoot up from her toes.

He is _so_ dead.

"Now, now," Laurent says, his rich tone lilting with amusement, "there is no need to turn into a beetroot, Katherine. It is a perfectly -"

"I'm not a teenager," Kate cuts in. She's not. And neither is Rick. Even if they have been pursuing the physical aspect of their relationship like they are. But sill. Not okay. "Grown women don't get hickeys."

"I think grown women are the perfect canvas for a well-placed love bite," Laurent chuckles and Kate pulls off her sunglasses to glare at him. "Now come, my darling, tell me all about this mysterious paramour of yours. I can assume he is the reason you have been a missing person these last weeks?"

She stoops to pick up the cup, hooking her sunglasses into the collar of her dress, and follows Laurent through the gallery to his office. Just the sight of the velvet covered couch makes her body temperature kick up three degree so she drops into an antique straightback chair instead, the back of her high bun brushing against the wall. Laurent sinks into his oversized leather chair, fingers wiggling.

"Proceed," he commands with a grin and Kate sighs. Not telling her parents is one thing but there's no way she's getting out of here without spilling it all to Laurent. He'll make sure of that.

"It's Rick," she confesses, her thumbnail flicking at the top of the straw sticking out of her cup. "We've been seeing each other for -"

"About a month, one could guess" Laurent interjects, the ends of his mustache twitching. "If one was to judge by the length of time it has been since you came to gallery once a day to commune with your babies, that is."

Kate nods. She hadn't realized it before now but she has been neglecting the gallery in favor of spending time with Rick. She still works, of course, but now she just works _with_ him.

He writes while she develops or edits, his long body folded into the corner of her couch, battered, duct taped laptop balanced on his thighs, the fan putting up one hell of a racket; He follows her around the city when she heads out to take pictures, the two of them hammering out the snags in his plot while he holds her bag or helps her balance in a precarious position in order to get the perfect shot. They make their own schedule now that school's out for the summer, sometimes sleeping until noon and other times up before the dawn.

Some of her best work has been produced since she met Rick. Shots she never would have tried before - some daring, some mundane - hang from the wires in her dark room, begging to be blown up and mounted. She's never felt more inspired. He sparks something in her, some piece of her soul that she hadn't known was missing but now can't -

"Oh," Laurent breathes, all the playful ribbing dropping from his voice as the looks at her. His head cocks to one side, the stray ends of his hair rustling against his collar. "You are serious about this man."

"What? I -" Kate shakes her head. "I didn't say that. I didn't say _anything_ , other than his name."

A bony hand waves away her protests like gnats. "You did not need to, Katherine. Your face spoke for you. I see the glimmer in your eye, the softness in your mouth. You are rather smitten."

The disagreement lodges halfway up her throat. She won't deny it. She can't. Even if Rick will never know about the conversation, he deserves more than her lies. Better.

"Yeah." She nods, chin dropping down to meet her chest as the butterflies erupt into victorious flight in her stomach. "Yeah, I am. He's smart and hilarious but also serious and incredibly giving." Kate pulls the straw out of the lid, twirling it through her fingers like a baton as she talks, the words rushing into one another in their bid for freedom. "He's a writer. A talented one. But he can't see it in himself and I just - I want to be able to make him see himself and his work the way I do. He's amazing, Laurent. And he makes me -" Her shoulders lift in a shrug and she looks back up, her own eyes prickling when she sees the shine in Laurent's. "He makes me happy. I've never been this happy. I didn't know I could be."

"You are falling in love with him."

"I - I -" Cold fingers wrap around her lungs, squeezing until she has to fight do draw in even the tiniest of breathes. "I didn't say that."

"Once again, you did not need to, ma chère. I see it all over your face when you speak of him." Laurent tilts his head forward, chin dipping down. "But I also see the panic so I will not push."

Kate swallows. "Thank you," she croaks, her chest tight and burning.

"Allow me only to say this -"

"Laurent. Please -"

He holds up a hand to still her protests. "Only one thing, Katherine, and then I shall leave the subject be. Oui?"

Her whole body jerks with her reluctant nod and Laurent lets his hand fall. He brushes the tips of his fingers across the desk, his eyes drifting to the picture frame in one corner. Kate knows what lives in that frame, the image that stares out at him every day - Laurent and his wife, hands clasped next to abandoned cups of espresso, his lips brushing against the full roundness of Simone's smiling cheek. She can still remember taking it, sitting at a cafe in Toulouse, two weeks before the stroke that stole Simone from them. From him.

"Opportunities to love," Laurent breathes, misty gaze still locked on the print, "are not rare but the chance for _true_ love is. Do not let it pass you by simply because you have fear in your heart." He kisses the tips of his fingers and presses them to the glass before looking back to Kate. "All of the great love stories are truly just two people fighting against the odds and their fears because they know, deep inside their breasts, their lives are better spent together than apart."

Silence descends over the room, broken only by the crinkle of plastic as Kate twists the straw around and around her left thumb. The old brass clock on Laurent's desk ticks out the seconds and Kate counts the heavy thump of her heart against it, half amazed that the organ hasn't given out from the speed it's working. Laurent clears his throat and stands, gesturing for her to do the same.

"Now, come along," he says, tilting his head toward the door to the gallery. "We have business to discuss and I feel the air is much too heavy here now for such things."

Grateful for an outlet for the nervous energy coiled in her muscles, Kate jumps out of the chair. She tosses the cup into the garbage can next to the door and wipes her fingers, sticky with lemon pulp, against the fabric of her skirt. Laurent glides across the floor, the soft soles of his shoes silent against the marble. He leads her toward the wall featuring her own work and Kate internally cringes, the pictures she was so proud of just a few weeks ago now appearing too safe and pedestrian. Maybe Laurent will let her change some of them out.

"If I wanted to replace a few of these, would that be okay?"

"With me, of course." Laurent turns on his heel to face her, hands clasped behind his back. He rocks up onto his toes and then settles back to his heels and Kate stares at him, feels her eyebrows crawling together to meet in the middle of her forehead. "But I do not think it would be acceptable to the patron who has expressed interest in making a purchase."

"Well," Kate says, turning to examine the wall, already mentally redesigning the flow, "I'll just replace whatever they buy."

"Then, my darling, you will be replacing them all."

The muscles in her neck twinge from the speed with which her head whips around. Laurent bounces on his toes again, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eye, and she can see him there before her, shifting in and out of focus, an excitable little boy, overjoyed at the secret he holds.

"What?"

"Do you recall when I told you that a guest had expressed interest in purchasing your work?"

Kate nods. "You wouldn't tell me which one."

"That is because, at the time, she could not choose. Ultimately, she decided she did not have to." One arm lifts, sweeping down the length of the wall. "She wishes to possess all of them, Katherine."

"You're joking."

"I do not joke about matters such as this. Mrs. Elizabeth Nash would like to purchase your complete collection. If the price is to your liking, of course."

The wall feels cool against her shoulder blades when they hit it, the only thing holding her upright when her knees give. Her fingers twitch, reaching for a hand that isn't there.

"How much?"

"Before I disclose that information, Katherine, I feel it is important for you to know that I believe the amount she has offered is fair."

"Okay," she nods, chin bobbing a few too many times. "How much?"

"Fifty thousand dollars."

Holy shit.

Laurent's laugh echos off the walls, lips spread wide in a proud smile. "Holy shit is correct."

Kate blinks. Apparently she had said that aloud. One hand presses to her chest as she rights herself, praying for her knees to hold this time, even as the world continues to blur around her. "I- uh- yes. That sounds fair. American dollars?"

"Yes," Laurent's chuckle deepens as he winds an arm around her shoulders and presses a peppermint and brandy infused kiss to her temple. "American dollars. You are a hit, Katherine. The art world is abuzz. Just remember, I found you first."

"As if I could ever forget," Kate murmurs in response as Laurent propels her clumsy feet toward the door. "All of this is because of you."

"Now, no need to get maudlin, Katherine. I will let the lovely Mrs. Nash know the wonderful news and will give you a call once the deal is settled and the check has been signed. Until then, enjoy and the art will stay here until the exhibit is closed."

"Okay," Kate nods when they reach the entry, Laurent's slim, papery palm rubbing her bicep with affection.

"One more thing, before you leave," Laurent continues and Kate spins from under his arm until they are left face to face, palms clasped, arms stretched between them. "I know I promised I would not say anything more on the subject, but being in love means being brave and bold. And if anyone I know embodies those two qualities, it is you. Do not be afraid to leap. Now go on, find that handsome man of yours and celebrate. You, Katherine Beckett, have arrived."

* * *

Sun beats down on the top of her head, once again turning the nest of her hair into an oven against her scalp. The world passes her by in a haze, all the sights and sounds of the city blended together into nothing more than white noise. She floats down the sidewalk, oblivious.

Fifty thousand dollars. Wow. But really, it's not even the money that has her head so... floaty. Not really. Someone _wants_ her work. Elizabeth Nash wants to have it hanging in her home or office so badly that she willingly offered up a five figure sum in order to have it. It's not the first time she's sold a piece but this - This is a collection.

This is _huge_.

The iPhone feels slippery in her hand when she pulls it out. Her thumb hovers over the button that will bring his voice to her, her fingers shaking with adrenaline. She swipes back to the home screen instead. This is news that should be shared in person. Celebrated with wine and kisses and his breath along the side of her neck.

Looking up, Kate finally takes in her surroundings. How in the hell did she end up in Williamsburg? Shit. She checks the time on her phone. Three hours until she's supposed to meet Rick and his mother for dinner. Enough time to go home and shower, to wash the grime from her skin and change into clothes that aren't soaked through with a half a pound of sweat. To make herself presentable, spend a little time covering up that damn spot on her neck. Or-

Or she could just go to Rick's now. Lure him into a celebratory shower and wear tomorrow's dress - the one folded up in the bottom of her bag, next to her kit of toiletries and packet of birth control - to dinner.

Yeah. That's definitely what she's doing.

Kate spins on her heel and almost takes out a shirtless jogger with her elbow. He's already twenty feet away by the time the apology makes its way past her lips. Shaking her head, she heads down the sidewalk, mentally mapping a route to the closest subway station that will get her across Brooklyn to Rick's.

A flash in her peripheral vision catches her attention and she looks over, squinting at the glare of the sun off the glass doors of the building on the opposite corner. The red brick looks almost brand new, no graffiti or discoloration. Huh. Kate peers closer, heart skipping a beat when she sees the metal sign hanging from the side of the building, rustic and lowkey, a nod to the neighborhood no doubt.

Hand clutched around the bulk of her bag, she skip-runs across the street. The handle of the door feels smooth against her palm and she pulls it open, the fine baby hairs along her forehead and neck rustling in the cool breeze of air conditioning as she steps inside. She doesn't even make it two feet before a young woman approaches her, angular face softened by a smile.

"Welcome the the Apple Store. My name is Karin. Is there anything I can help you with today?"

There certainly is.

* * *

 _And with this chapter, we have officially broken the 50,000 word goal for the ficathon. Thank you so so much to everyone who has read and commented and favorited. We appreciate it more than you know._

 _Thank you for reading and, as always, your thoughts and comments are appreciated._


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The stench of chemical cleansers hangs in the air, burning the insides of his nostrils. Whoever decided pine was a desirable scent for cleaning products obviously did not have a working olfactory system.

Rick stands in the middle of his bedroom, sweat beading on his forehead and hands perched on his hips, surveying the freshly clean space with his chest puffed out in a pose that could rival even Christopher Reeve. All he's missing is the cape. The temptation to grab the ends of the curtain and tie them around his neck, one of his favorite childhood playtime activities, hits him hard. His hands are halfway there when a twinge in his lower back stops him cold- a fierce, sudden reminder of his age. Maybe not so much with the Superman then.

The air conditioning unit in the bedroom window wheezes out an anemic breeze, barely lowering the temperature by a couple of degrees. But it's better than nothing as he stands in front of it, the tepid stream of air not even making his t-shirt ripple. Reaching behind his neck, he grabs at his collar, pulling it over his head in one smooth move. The shirt hits the ground and he stares at it with immediate regret. Three hours of cleaning probably shouldn't end with his dirty clothes on the bedroom floor, but the twinge in his back argues the point.

He's just got the edge of the shirt hooked under his curling toes when the door buzzes. Hopping toward the door, the shirt falls out of his grasp somewhere along the way and Rick groans. He really needs to spend more time on his toe dexterity if he wants that armless painter in his next story to feel real.

The button for the buzzer gives his finger a little shock that shoots a tingling line up to his elbow. Damn landlord said he would fix that three years ago.

"Hello?"

"It's me," Kate says, her voice still recognizable despite being distorted by the decades old call system.

Rick hits the access button and unlocks the door, fingers already reaching for the knob. He pulls it open when he hears the rustle of plastic coming down the hall. Poking his head out, he sees her speed walking toward his door, sunglasses perched on the top of her head and her cheeks split so wide by a smile that he wonders if it actually physically hurts.

"What's -"

The hot press of her mouth silences the rest of his question as her body collides with his. Rick steps back and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her inside. She kisses him with gusto and he barely remembers to flail a hand out, slamming the door shut and flicking the lock. One lithe arm loops around his neck as her lips and tongue steal whatever strength was left in his body after an afternoon spent cleaning his apartment from top to bottom.

"I have," she breathes between kisses, lips never fully disconnecting from his, "the best news."

"You've decided to give up photography and become my full time lover?"

Her laugh makes his stomach swoop down into his toes. Kate shakes her head, even while walking him slowly backward toward the bedroom. His left heel catches on the discarded shirt and he slips, one hand flying up to catch the wall before they both land in heap on the floor.

"I don't need to quit photography to do that," Kate husks and the fingers of one hand trail down his abdomen to hook into the elastic waistband of his shorts. "I can just start producing a very _different_ sort of picture. I'm sure you'd fetch a pretty penny in _Playgirl_."

A loud bark of a laugh rises up from deep inside his chest as the backs of his knees hit the bed. Rick lets himself fall backward pulling Kate down with him onto the mattress. Her sunglasses bounce off the bedspread next to his head and she smiles down at him, face pink with sun and excitement sparkling in her eyes.

"You certainly know how to stroke a guy's ego."

She gives him a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle.

"That's not all I know how to -"

Still laughing, Rick pinches her lips together with two fingers. Kate mumbles at him theatrically and he shakes his head.

" _I'm_ supposed to be the child in this relationship," he reminds her. "You're far too classy to work blue."

Kate rolls her eyes and he lifts his head off the bed, pecking a kiss to the lips still pinched between his index finger and thumb. With a sigh, she sinks down into his chest, elbows braced on either side of his head.

"So, tell me what's got you in such a giddy mood today," Rick prompts, letting go of her lips. He brushes the tips of his fingers down her back and she shivers against him in spite of the heat. "What's your good news?"

The flecks of gold in her eyes catch the sunlight and he almost has to squint against how stunning she is, her body pressed to his and a smile as wide as the Mississippi making her glow.

"Oh, Rick. I can't- I still haven't wrapped my head around it." She rolls to the side, hands pulling at the strap of her bag. Twisting over, he props himself up on one elbow and helps her lift it over her head. "I went to the gallery -"

"Because Laurent had news for you?"

Kate nods. "Huge news. Someone - a Mrs. Elizabeth Nash, according to Laurent- wants to buy my pictures, Rick. _All_ of my pictures. She wants the entire collection at the gallery."

Fireworks explode inside his chest. Pride and joy colliding behind his ribs, propelling his body into hers. He gathers her into his arms, holding her in a hug so tight he can feel the thunder of her heart through his chest. The beat matches his own.

"Kate, that is _wonderful_. I'm so happy for you."

"That's not even the most amazing part," she says, lips brushing against the cap of his shoulder. "She offered fifty thousand dollars for them."

His head rocks back. "Whoa. That's not an insignificant amount of money." Her laugh sounds fractured against his eardrums and Rick tightens his hold as her shoulders start to shake. "Are you okay? Do you not want to sell them?"

Kate shakes her head, a hand sneaking up between their bodies to swipe at her eyes. "No, I do. This is just - It's a lot. It's overwhelming. I've been working for years to get some sort of name recognition, to be even a little known in the world of art. And now it feels like it's all happening at once and -" She trails off, a lone tear clinging to her lashes.

"You're not sure how to process it," he fills in. She gives him a jerky little nod and Rick leans forward, presses his lips to her hairline. "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you this, but that is a perfectly natural feeling. Having your dreams come true can knock you on your ass. I speak from experience."

"I know." The tips of her fingers stroke down the column of his throat. "It's not just the pictures, though. It's -"

"What?"

" _Everything_ is happening at once," she repeats. "Selling the pictures. Finally being in what feels like a good place with my mom. You. I'm just- I feel -" Her shoulders lift and fall and she turns her face into the crook of his neck. "I'm happy, Rick. Really, really happy."

His heart does a somersault, sticking the landing somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.

"I'm glad. You deserve to be happy, Kate," he breathes around the knot of emotion in throat. "And for the record, I'm really, really happy too."

She gives him a watery laugh, leaning back again to swipe at her eyes. He follows her, his upper body suspended over hers on the bed. Her bun rustles against the bedspread as she shakes her head at herself.

"I'm sorry. I came over here early intending to seduce you into a celebratory shower -"

"Oh, you did?"

"- and instead I end up leaving a mascara stain on your shoulder." She thumbs at his collarbone, her nail scraping at whatever it is she sees. "I'm sure this," she waves a hand at her face, still pink with sun and now pinker with emotion, "doesn't really scream sexy."

"Kate, Kate, Kate," he murmurs, shaking his head as he rolls off the bed and lands on his feet, hands extended toward her. She takes his fingers and he pulls her up after him, the hem of her dress brushing his thighs as they sway on the spot. "You are," he takes a step back, pulling her toward the tiny ensuite, "without a doubt the most effortlessly sexy woman I have ever had the good fortune to meet."

Her eyebrow hitches when he pulls her in close, one hand creeping up the length of her back to find the pull for her zipper.

"What a line. You really are a writer through and through, huh?"

Rick stops moving, hands spread wide over her shoulder blades. He shakes his head, all the flirtatiousness falling away as he stares down at her. She has to know what he - how he-

"Not a line." He spreads the sides of her dress apart, helps her slide out of it. They stand there in the middle of his bedroom, him in shorts and her in nothing but underwear, both of them exposed. "Yes, you're gorgeous but this -" he taps a finger to the left side of her chest - "this is what amazes me. Your passion, your talent, your heart. I've never in my life met another person like you. I -"

Lifting up onto her toes, she presses her lips to his. Rick stumbles back, catching her around the waist as she starts a slow climb up his body. He guides them into the bathroom, thrusting a hand into the shower and fumbling for the knob as Kate undulates in his arms. Hot water thunders against the porcelain floor of the tub and he puts her down in the rapidly forming puddle, climbing over the side after her, shorts still hanging off his waist.

"Let's get clean," he husks and Kate grins, reaching for the drawstring tie on his shorts.

"Okay," she sighs, working the elastic waist down over his hips, "but I was kinda hoping we could get a little dirty first."

* * *

Rick hums to himself as he shaves, scraping the razor carefully over the protrusion of his adam's apple. He rinses the blades in the sink and examines his face in the steamy mirror, eyes rolling at the dopey grin he finds plastered across his own mouth. Less than two months in and he's already turned into a blithering idiot when she's around. _And_ when she's not.

Good Lord, he's pathetic.

Kate saunters up to the door of the bathroom, body clad in only a tiny scrap of teal lace and wet hair pulled back into a French braid. He imagines how it will look when she takes it down later, the way it will kink and curl around his fingers when he kisses her, and heat blooms low in his abdomen.

"You gonna share that mirror, pretty boy?" She shakes her tiny makeup bag at him, hazel eyes dancing in the way they do when she's feeling playful. "Some of us have hickeys to cover up."

"I got carried away," he defends as he wipes shaving cream residue from his face. "You were doing that thing where you -" He gyrates his hips and Kate cackles, her bare breasts swaying - "and I'm pretty sure I left my body for a minute."

"So it's my fault I'm bruised?"

"I didn't say that." Rick holds up his hands in defeat. "Totally my fault. And I offered to let you give me one as payback."

Kate slides her mostly naked body past his to belly up to the sink. She pulls out a slim bottle of beige liquid and unscrews the cap. Rick stands behind her, hands cradling her waist, and watches as she swipes the little wand over the bruise at the base of her throat. She blends it in with a little egg shaped sponge and the purple disappears. Magic.

"It's not magic," Kate laughs and he blinks, a flush of pink lighting up his cheeks. "It's just makeup. And, I think, hickey reciprocity -"

"Oh my god, you're so hot when you use two dollar words."

"- would just be positive reinforcement for you," she finishes, ignoring his interjection. Kate tosses the concealer back into the bag and reaching for a tube of mascara, eye flicking up to meet his in the mirror. "I'll have to come up with a more creative form of payback."

The skin of her neck smells like his spring fresh soap when he presses his nose there and a rush of feral possessiveness fills his chest. Rick takes a deep breath and exhales, letting the caveman rush out as quickly as he came.

"I'll be eagerly awaiting your revenge then," he says, dropping a kiss to the hinge of her jaw.

Kate hums at him, her mouth open while she brushes the mascara wand over her eyelashes. Releasing her, he tears himself away from the mesmerizing picture she makes and and pads over to the chest of drawers on the other side of the bedroom. He pulls on a fresh pair of jeans and a button down shirt, tucking the tails into the waist of his pants. Butterflies flit a nervous ballet in his stomach and he feels completely ridiculous for it. Kate isn't the first woman to have met his mother. The fate of their relationship doesn't hang on the outcome of one meal.

Her bag sits open on the foot of his bed and Rick ambles over to it, his fingers itching with the need to do something. Anything. He'd try writing but past experience tells him that nothing of any value would come out when he's this anxious. Plus by the time his ancient laptop finally booted up, his mother will have already arrived. Kate's dress lays spread out over one side - _her_ side - of the bed so he sits on the other, hand dipping into her bag and coming up with her point and shoot.

He takes a few random shots of the room - the beam of light cutting across the cheap carpet, the way her shoes stick out haphazardly from where she kicked them under the chair in the corner, the shadow of her body against the bathroom floor. Rick shifts as the light switches off and plastic crackles next to his hip. He looks under her tote and smiles.

"Decided to stop by the Apple Store and treat yourself to a little a pre-shower celebration, huh?" He grins up at her as she circles the bed, fingers gathering up her dress, hips shimmying as she works it up her body. "Very nice."

"Actually," Kate says, turning to present her back to him and motioning with one finger at the gaping zipper, "that's for you."

His hand stalls halfway up her back.

"What?"

The skirt of her dress puffs like a bell when she spins to face him, her eyes sparkling and a shy grin curling up her lips. Kate lifts her tote off the plastic store bag and reaches inside. She pulls out an unassuming brown box and balances it on the edge of the bed, her fingers picking at the tape along the seams. The flaps open and she pulls out a smaller box from inside, this one white and wrapped in plastic, the Apple logo prominent on one side.

"I got this for you," she repeats, setting the computer box in his lap. Rick holds it with numb fingers, a chill creeping over his skin. "Your laptop is on death's door and -"

"Kate. No. This is too much. Way, _way_ too much." Rick shakes his head, pushing the box toward her as his heart throws itself into his ribs. "I can't accept this."

"It's not too much," she insists, resisting his attempts to shove the computer into her hands. "Rick, stop. Listen to me." Her fingers, warm and soft, smooth over his cheek and he looks at her, the flower of guilt blooming inside his gut. "Every artist deserves to have the proper tools to pursue their passion. You are an amazing writer. You should have a laptop that doesn't take thirty minutes to start or overheat if you use it for too long. One that isn't held together by duct tape and a prayer."

He can't - God, he has to tell her. Right now.

"Kate -"

"I want to do this for you," she says, her voice shaky with emotion. "I want you to know that I believe in you, in your writing, just as much as you believe in me and my photographs."

Holding the box with one hand, he reaches up to cup the side of her neck with the other. He kisses her slowly, deeply, tries to commit to memory the feel of her skin and the taste of her lips, the way her tongue smooths over his and the warmth of her breath against his cheek. Kate whimpers and sinks down into him, her own fingers threading through the fine hair along the base of his skull. Putting the computer to the side, Rick leans forward and Kate willingly follows his lead, lets him press her body down into the soft cotton bedspread.

"Kate," he breaths as her fingers start to pluck at the top buttons of his shirt. "Kate, wait. There's something -"

The buzz of the front door echoes through the apartment and Rick jumps, his hair standing on end. Kate lets out a breathy chuckle, her head bouncing off the mattress as she stares up at him with glassy eyes.

"Guess we'll have to pick this up after dinner," she murmurs, pushing her flat palms against his chest. He climbs to his feet and Kate sits up, smoothing a hand over the back of her braid. She reaches back and grabs the zipper of her dress as he stands there, unable to move. To speak. To breathe. The door buzzes again and Kate presses on his shin with one toe. "Go let your mother in," she says, sliding off the bed and heading for her shoes.

Right. His mother.

This should be great.

* * *

"Katherine, I simply must tell you how much I adore your photography," Martha coos, the early evening light peeking through the teased and curled helmet of her hair. "Absolutely stunning work, darling. You have the eye. And I should know. I posed for Warhol once."

Rick barely stops the eyeroll that so desperately wants to happen. Kate squeezes his knee under the table and he jerks, his socked toes slamming into the leg. Their half-empty plates rattle and he reaches for his fork, spearing a piece of the bourbon marinated salmon his mother brought. The fish flakes apart in his mouth, sticky and slightly sweet.

"Oh thank you, Martha," Kate replies, obviously touched by his mother's compliments. "How did you see them? Did you go to the gallery?"

"Oh, no. I Googled you on the internet," Martha explains, one hand miming typing while the other holds her glass aloft, wine flirting dangerously with the rim, and Rick hears Kate swallow back a laugh. "The young props technician on my last play showed me how to do that. Amazing what one can find on the line these days."

"Online, Mother," Rick corrects, trying to keep a bite of quinoa salad on his fork long enough to get it to his mouth. "It's online, not on the line."

"Either way." Martha takes sip from her glass, the food on her plate barely touched. "You are quite the talent, Katherine."

Kate's chin dips, a blush creeping along the length of her collarbones. She cants into him and Rick lifts his arm, draping it along the back of her chair. His fingertips caress her bicep, reading the goosebumps that pop up under his touch like braille. Ducking his head, Rick presses a kiss against her temple.

"My mother can be prone to hyperbole -"

"Watch it, kiddo."

"But this once, she speaks the truth. I've run out of synonyms for describing how amazing you - your pictures are." Kate mumbles something that might be a thank you into the rim of her wine glass, the bowl of it tucked into her chest. "Mother," Rick says, diverting his attention from Kate, allowing her time to gather herself, "you really should try to make it to the gallery to see her pictures in person. The internet doesn't do them justice."

Martha gives him an imperious little nod. "Those screens do distort things, don't they? I once saw an au naturale photograph of Burt Reynolds on the computer and let me tell you -"

"Mother, I beg of you," Rick drops his fork, hand flying up as a shield, "please do not finish that sentence. I enjoyed that fish and would very much like to keep it in my stomach."

"Really, Richard. How did I manage to raise such a prude?"

"Not wanting to know about your-" he swallows theatrically and Kate giggles at his side - " _personal_ life does not make me prude. It simply makes me a man with no desire to perform a home lobotomy."

Silver bangles jangling, his mother waves a dismissive hand and tips her head back, draining the last few drops wine. Kate leans forward and grabs the bottle of white - the second one, since his mother already plowed through the first - he splurged on, pouring the rest of it into Martha's waiting glass.

"So tell me, darling," Marthe sing songs, "how did you come to find your calling in the arts?"

How is it that his mother always knows the exact wrong question to ask?

"It was -" Kate starts and stalls, her bottom lip rolling up over her teeth.

"You don't have to-" Rick reassures in a whisper only to be cut off by the smallest of headshakes.

"It was really hard," she continues after a prolonged beat, her body opening up as her shoulders roll back, "but also really easy. I'd been on another path, one I thought was right for me. And I still think about it sometimes, what my life could have been like had I continued on that road. But I always come to the same conclusion. That life wasn't for me. I know this -" her fingers tighten around the meat just above his knee again and Rick feels his gut twist - "this is where I'm supposed to be."

Oh God, he wants to kiss her. Wants to stroke his tongue into her mouth, his fingers playing along the slope of her neck and bodies pressed close.

"Fate," Martha nods, a sageness in her voice he's never heard before.

Kate lifts one freckled shoulder in a shrug of agreement. "Something like that."

"Maybe you could try to share a little of that certainty with this one here," his mother says, jabbing a finger in Rick's direction. "Try to convince him that one setback shouldn't derail a dream."

For a brief moment, all he can see is the memory of his mother's face when he told her about being dropped by his agent. The clouds of pity that rolled through her eyes, the thin line of her mouth, disappointment pulling the edges down. He'd crashed and burned at twenty-two and she'd left for a tour the next week, leaving him alone to pick up the jagged shards of what he thought his life would be.

"I'm working on it," Kate offers, bumping her shoulder against his chest. "I've been reading his books and -"

His mother's head pivots toward him such a speed that Rick finds himself worrying she's given herself whiplash.

"His books?"

Kate looks back and forth between them, chin lifting and falling in a slow nod. "Yeah, the manuscripts he's been working on for the last few years?"

"No, dear, I know what it is you're referring to. Please forgive my rudeness," Martha says, prying her eyes from his face and blinking. She turns back toward Kate, reaching out across the tiny table to pat her forearm. "I was just surprised to learn that Richard is now sharing his writing. He has historically refused to show it to anyone." She cuts her eyes back in his direction. "Even his own mother."

Rick shrinks down into his chair, a decades old response to his mother's raised eyebrow, stumbling over his apologetic excuses like a ten year old. "I'm sorry. I never - If I - There was no intentional offense, Mother. Really. It's just that Kate is…"

"Kate is special," Martha finishes for him and he can see the woman in question flushing a bright pink from the corner of his eyes, her shoulders lifting up to their vacation home next to her ears.

"Yeah, she is," he agrees with a sharp nod. He can't help it. He's physically incapable of stopping himself from complimenting her.

"Wow, you all need to stop that." Kate wags a finger back and forth between them before reaching for her still half-full wine. "After the day I've had, you seriously risk overinflating my ego."

"I have a feeling that is impossible," Martha chuckles. "You, Katherine, are the picture of modesty. But in the very unlikely hypothetical event that it is possible, please do tell me what else happened today so I can temper my praise accordingly."

Kate meets his mother's interest with a nervous chuckle and a wave of her wine glass. "Oh, nothing really. Someone just showed interest in a couple of my photos at the gallery."

"A couple of?" He jumps in before he can think better of himself, unwilling to let her continue to downplay what they both know to be a huge moment in her career. "Someone bought _all_ of them."

"Oh, that _is_ wonderful, darling." Martha gushes, her hands clapping together with glee, the shimmery fabric of her blouse catching the sunlight like glitter as she moves. "This calls for a celebration! Richard, break out that other bottle of wine I know you're hiding somewhere in that closet you call a kitchen."

"You're already drinking it," Rick reminds her, pointing at the two empty bottles standing on the table.

"Well, then," his mother announces, holding her glass aloft. "To Katherine, on this momentous day. May your success be long and profitable."

Rick holds his own glass up, nudging Kate until she raises her as well. They all clink and drink and he sees the tips of Kate's fingers blanching white against the bottom of her glass.

"Thank you, Martha. It's all still pretty surreal." Rick hears her swallow and shifts, preparing himself for the quick escape he knows she's gearing up to make. "Now if you will excuse me, I need to go to the-"

Kate waves one hand in the general vicinity of the bedroom and they both nod as she slips out of her chair, napkin dabbing at the corner of her mouth and wanders off across the tiny apartment. He watches her pass through the door to his room, the soles of his feet tingling with the desire to follow.

"She is as lovely as you said, Richard. Maybe even more."

Rick jerks in his chair, attention flying back to his mother and the soft smile curling at her fuchsia stained lips. The look in her eyes makes his already racing heart kick into overdrive.

"She's - Lovely, yeah," he sighs in agreement. Lovely. That's a good word for her. "I still don't get why she's here, with me. Why - I'm so going to screw this up," he finishes, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"You still haven't told her." Martha concludes, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms.

"No. I tried earlier, just before you got here. She- she bought me a laptop with part of the money - a _small_ part - she got from the sale, and I can't… but I can't lose her either, Mother."

"You're already in love with her."

"I… No… I just-"

"Oh, Richard. You are. I suspected from the moment I walked in that door. And my suspicion was confirmed when she said you had let her read your stories. You love her. It's nothing to be ashamed of, darling."

"No, of course it's not. It wouldn't be, I mean. It's just - It's just so soon."

"What does time matter when it comes to the heart? Love is love, my boy. And if you truly do love her like I believe you do, then you must tell her how you came to meet. If it is meant to be, then it will be."

"Fate, Mother? Again?"

"Fate. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it. When two people are meant to be, they will be. And honestly, Richard? I've never seen such a perfect pair."

Martha stands and takes the three short steps into his kitchen, wine glass in hand. Rick stares out the window, watching the sunset bounce off the panes of glass in the building across the alley. He'd never imagined that Fate would look like Johanna Beckett but...

Maybe.

Maybe it will be enough.

* * *

 _Due to unforeseen and unavoidable real life obstacles, Such a Happiness will be taking a three week hiatus after this chapter. The next chapter will be posted on Wednesday, September 21st. We appreciate all of your support and are simply trying to write for you the best story we can. Thank you all for your patience and understanding._

 _And, as always, thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are appreciated._


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The tip of her finger hovers over the shutter button.

"Come on," a thin, bespectacled woman cajoles, fingers wiggling at the toddler perched at the top of a blue plastic slide, his chubby little hands wrapped around the sides. "You can do it. Slide down to Mommy."

A defiant and high pitched _No!_ reverberates through the humid July air and Kate has to swallow back the laugh bubbling up her throat. Sun beats down on her shoulders, a light breeze blowing across the backs of her legs. She keeps the camera steady, waiting for the perfect moment.

"You have to be brave, Bryson," the woman says, steel supporting the soothing silk of her tone. "The other boys and girls want to play on the slide too. Come down so they can have a turn."

The little boy looks over his shoulder, his blond hair bleached almost white by the sun. Two girls wait on the steps behind him, their patience belied by the near-constant shifting of their sandaled feet. Bryson looks back toward his mother and Kate watches the tiny barrel of his chest expand. She lets her finger sink down into the give of the button, waits.

With a scream, Bryson pushes off, arms extended over his head and sweaty hair fluttering. The camera whirs out a series of clicks just as he hits the bottom, tumbling almost head first into this mother's chest. Smiling, Kate pulls the viewfinder away from her face, peeking around the side to watch as the woman smothers her son's face in smacking kisses, praising him for being brave and a big boy. Her heart gives a funny little kick against her ribs as she depresses the button one last time and then she releases the muscles in her arms, letting the weight of camera come to a rest against her chest.

Spinning on the spot, Kate meanders down the sidewalk, her sandals slapping against the concrete. She murmurs polite _excuse me_ s as she slips through a gaggle of tourists only to stop short, one hand shooting up to shield her camera as a jogger comes flying past. A two week long heat wave finally broke the day before, and it seems the entire population of the city has made a mass exodus from their apartments ready to overtake and enjoy every park, splash pad, and rooftop garden they can find. And even though days of lounging around her well air-conditioned apartment with Rick - half dressed and living off take out - had been close to her idea of heaven, she too is happy to be back out in the wild.

The camera gravitates back to her eye when she rounds a bend and Rick comes into view, his outstretched legs crossed at the ankle and one bare foot tapping to whatever random beat plays inside his head. The jackrabbit kick of her heart starts up again as she snaps a shot of him, everything about the image filling her frame turning her insides to jelly. The hunch of his shoulders where he sits with his back against the tree, that lock of hair that always flops over his forehead, the intent look on his face as he stares at the laptop perched on his thighs.

The shutter clicks again and then suddenly he's looking back at her, a grin spreading across his face even as his fingers continue to tap at the keys.

"Hey," she says dropping to the blanket beside him, the lameness of the greeting making her cheeks flush even as she leans in to press her lips against his.

A little over two months in, and sometimes it still feels like a first date, full of heated glances and awkward lulls in conversation. Other moments hold the comfort of a couple committed for a lifetime.

"Hey," Rick parrots once they part, one hand closing the lid of his laptop.

He moves it to rest next to his hip on the checkered blanket, one corner tucked under his ass. Spreading his legs into a vee, Rick pats the area between his thighs. Kate climbs over and snugs her hips into the space he made, sandwiching his body between hers and the tree. Her muscles mold instantly to the shape of him and she can't catch the satisfied sigh that floats up out of her chest.

"Comfy?"

"Very," she replies, and her eyes slip shut, head lolling against his shoulder as his lips brush feather light across her temple, because this moment, right here with him, is perfect.

"Get some good shots?"

She hums halfheartedly, not in the mood to talk about work with her body so deliciously warmed into relaxation by his. His hands smooth over her sides, the tips of his fingers sliding through the spaces between her ribs before meeting in the middle to lace together over her stomach.

"You falling asleep?"

"Maybe," Kate mumbles through a jaw-cracking yawn she doesn't even try to conceal. " _Someone_ kept me up late last night."

"Really?" She can hear the smug grin in his voice and reaches down to grasp the skin above his exposed kneecap in a loose pinch. "Was it for fun reasons at least?"

"Well," she drawls, forcing her body not to squirm as his lips find that one place behind her ear he knows drives her crazy. "Depends on your definition of fun. The part with the ice cubes and sheet grabbing and getting thoroughly worn out? That part was a blast. Being woken up every fifteen minutes by a finger in the shoulder and a new plot point for his novel?" She twists her fingers through the coarse hair along his thigh, grinning as he squeaks. "Not so much."

"Thoroughly worn out, huh?"

"Of course that's what you take from that."

His chest vibrates against her back. "I'm sorry. I had the idea and just got excited."

Kate shakes her head, letting it roll in the valley where his neck and shoulder meet. His heart thumps a steady rhythm against her back and she times her breathing to it, inhaling every fifth beat.

"Don't be sorry. I like that you trust me with it." She lets her eyelashes flutter against the skin of his throat. "You're just lucky I find you adorable when you're excited."

"Adorable?" The high-pitched faux-offense in his voice makes her chuckle. "Puppies are adorable. Kittens. Those goats that faint when they're excited. Grown men are not adorable. _I_ am not adorable."

"Yeah," Kate rebuts, "you are. And speaking of adorable -" She grabs the camera from where it still rests on her chest, thumbing it on and moving the screen where they can both see it - "Look at this."

She lifts one hand to shield the little preview screen from the glare of the sun and Rick cranes his neck forward, chin pressed against her cheek as she advances through the series of slide shots. He sniggers at the kid's look of stubborn defiance, lets out a tiny whoop as Bryson rides down the slide, murmurs a barely audible aw at the shot of the toddler being doted on by his mother. The jelly inside Kate's chest wobbles and she swallows back the crowd of words scrambling up her throat.

"That is, in fact, adorable," Rick agrees, big toe popping as he flexes it. "What a journey that little dude took."

"Yeah, it really was. He was excited when he was climbing the steps and then got scared once he was up there but look-" she flips back to the picture of Bryson half-way down the slide, his rosy cheeks pulled up in a wide, baby toothed smile - "That's just joy."

Rick hums. "The pure kind that it seems like only little kids get to experience."

Kate swallows again. She wants to argue with him. To list out all the ways he makes her feel exactly like a little kid taking a soaring ride down a slide.

"Yeah," she murmurs, clearing her throat. "But his mom looked pretty happy too." She points at the image, tapping to zoom in on the woman's smiling face. "Honestly, it took everything in me not to swoop in and hug him myself."

Powering off the camera, Kate frees the strap from her neck. She tucks it into her bag, the long strap looped around Rick's thigh in a makeshift attempt at theft-prevention. Her hands fall to rest on top of his, fingers fitting into the grooves between his, as they both cradle her flat stomach. His thumb smoothes across the material of her dress, dipping into her navel, and the question tumbles off her tongue before she can stop it.

"Do you want kids?"

Rick's chest hitches then goes still, suddenly as solid and unyielding as the tree he's braced against. "Are you- I mean, have you- do you-"

"Breathe," Kate instructs, her fingers stroking up the back of his hand and around to his wrist. His pulse pounds against the thin skin there and she circles it with her index finger, slow and soothing. "I'm not pregnant."

A whoosh of humid air breezes by her ear and Kate chuckles even as his fingertips dig into the soft flesh of her abdomen.

"Good," he gruffs. "I mean, not good like it would be a bad thing but just that it's so early and we've only been together for a couple of months and -" he stops short, sucking in another breath. The jackhammer of his heart slows against her back. "But do you- eventually, someday- want kids?"

"I asked you first," Kate retorts, taking a small measure of delight in this bumbling, babbling version of her boyfriend. "But to be honest, I haven't thought that much about it. I just kind of figured I would cross that bridge when I came to it." Her fingertips trace an absent patterns on the back of his hand. "But, yeah, I guess. Someday. With the right person. What about you?"

"Well," he draws out and her heart plummets. "I do already have 120 kids a year."

A high-pitched ringing starts up inside her head. Kate nods, her chin dipping down almost to her chest. It's not really what she expected of him but -

"So you don't want kids of your own then?" She tries to make it as casual as possible but can hear the weird breathy quality of her own voice. Awesome.

Lips, soft and warm, press against the apple of her cheek and Kate lets her eyes flutter closed, the sunlight bleeding through her closed lids and turning her mind bright orange. His hands move and she lets him manipulate her fingers, spreading them apart with the girth of his. Her body rises and falls with his breathing.

"I didn't say that," Rick says, a gentle note of admonishment buried in the words. "It's not something I've ever really let myself think about. I've - There's never been anyone who has - I've just never had a relationship that I could see ever getting that far. Or anywhere even close to it."

The hollow feeling in her gut catches her off guard. It's been two months. Two months is way too early to be thinking about white dresses and tiny baby shoes. It's too soon to be hurt by his lack of a vision for -

"Until now."

She whips around and Rick grunts as her ear catches his nose, threatening to bend it in an unnatural angle. Kate maneuvers her head and neck, her muscles pulling as she cranes until they are almost face to face over her shoulder.

"Now?"

It comes out in a gush of anxious breath and she can't even care anymore. He just admitted he can see a future with her, that he is thinking about- and after only two months. That's fast. Too fast.

Only-

It isn't, is it?

Not when they spend more waking- and sleeping- hours together than apart. Not when the desire to grab her camera and capture his every move, every expression, almost constantly overwhelms her, if only so the world can see what she sees every morning when she opens her eyes- the honesty, the trust, the endless humor and intelligence. Not when she can picture it - a future with them at the center- so perfectly.

Speed is relative, particularly in matters of the heart.

"Yeah. Now." His eyes, bluer than the summer sky, flick back and forth between hers, his hand splaying wide over the quivering muscles of her stomach. "You're the most amazing person I've ever met, Kate. And I can't believe that you-" he trails off and her breath catches somewhere in her throat. Rick shakes his head, and she can't stop herself from reaching up, smoothing her fingers through the loose lock of hair laying over his forehead. "I just can't believe you're - that you're with me. That this is real."

Her neck screams in protest of the unnatural position she's forced it into but she ignores it. Nothing else matters in this moment. The heavy stone that's been lodged in her gut since her conversation with Laurent suddenly disappears.

He was right.

He always is.

"Rick, I-"

"Katie?"

With a jolt, Kate jerks around, tears instantly pooling in her eyes as she stares up into the sun. She blinks and suddenly her ribs feel like they're caving in.

"Dad?!"

Rick wheezes out a groan as she pops up out of his lap, one hand pushing into his stomach for leverage. The hem of her skirt sticks to the backs of her thighs and she tugs at it, trying to pull herself together. Dark lenses shield her dad's eyes, but she can feel the weight of his stare.

"Katie, what -"

Her fingers curl into the material of her skirt and all of the sudden she's five years old again, caught with her fingers in the cookie jar.

"What are you doing in the park?" Kate asks, cringing at the way her voice has pitched up.

"Taking a walk." Her dad looks down at Rick and then back at her. "Doctor's orders. What are _you_ doing in the park?"

"Um, just- you know." She flutters a hand in the general direction of her bag. "Pictures. How's your knee? Have they set a date for the surgery yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Oh, okay. Well, you'll have to let me know when it is so I can -"

"Katie," Jim scoffs, hands fisted on his waist and head cocking to one side, "are we really going to stand here and ignore the man currently making a valiant effort at blending into the trunk of that oak tree?"

"Dad -"

"Mr. Beckett," Rick cuts in, one hand braced on the tree as he lumbers to his feet. He dusts his palm across the leg of his khaki shorts, tiny pieces of bark falling like confetti around their feet, before extending it toward her father. "Rick Rodgers."

"Jim Beckett."

Kate's stomach bounces with each pump of their handshake. Closing her eyes, she pulls in a long, slow breath, willing her heart to decrease its rhythm from humming bird to something a little more sustainable for human life.

"This is Rick -" Kate offers, her voice wavering far more than she'll ever admit to.

"Yes," Jim chuckles, "he just said."

"My boyfriend."

A beat passes. Then another. Rick shifts on his feet beside her, the back of his hand brushing along her hip. Kate reaches down and laces their fingers, the tension in her muscles releasing by two degrees at the contact. His thumb rubs at the base of hers and she breathes in, letting her lungs fill with warm summer air.

"Well, Rick," her dad says, reaching up to slip the sunglasses off his nose. He hooks them into the collar of his shirt, gaze moving back and forth between them. "I'd say it's nice to finally meet you but since I had no idea you existed until about two minutes ago, you'll forgive me for skipping that particular cliché."

"I'm sorry," Kate offers, swaying toward her dad and reaching out with her free hand to touch his arm. "I should have told you. It's just still pretty new."

Not _that_ new, a voice inside her head pipes up. Not so new that she wasn't just about to -

Jim waves her off. "It's fine, Katie. You're a grown woman, entitled to all the privacy that comes along with it. But," he says and Kate feels it coming, her abdomen tightening in anticipation of the blow, "now that the cat's out of the bag, I'd like to meet this boyfriend of yours."

"You are," Kate points out, keeping her voice light as she plays dumb. She pats Rick on the chest and smiles at her father. "This is him."

"Hi," Rick offers, waving with his free hand.

"You know what I mean," Jim chuckles. "Meet him properly. Sit down to a meal, find out what he does for a living, grill him about his intentions."

"Dad -"

"Here," Jim says, fishing his cell phone of his pocket. "Let me call your mother and see when we're free."

"No!" Kate lunges for the phone, scooping it up from her dad's hand before he can even turn on the screen. "No."

"Katie!"

Shoulders lifting up to kiss her ears, Kate feels the beet red blush crawling over her chest and neck. Her fingers fist around her dad's phone and Rick steps in closer, the wall of his body keeping her on her feet. She shakes her head and the loose ends of her hair tickle the exposed skin between her shoulder blades.

"Mom can't know," Kate declares, the petulance on her voice making her feel half her actual age. "You can't tell her."

Her dad's eyebrows shoot up to his still full hairline, the whites of his eyes shining in the sun. Her knees knock together and she swallows back the acid creeping up her esophagus. The fingers of her right hand spasm, clenching reflexively when Rick's loosen and fall away.

"Katherine," Jim says, the tone in his voice instantly warping her back to being seventeen and trying to drunkenly sneak into the apartment long past curfew.

"Dad." Shame creeps up her spine as she begs and Rick's hand tightens where it has shifted to hold the curve of her waist. "I will tell her, I promise. I will. But just not yet. Please."

"I don't like this."

"I know," Kate agrees, trying to keep the whine from her voice. "I don't really like it either. But you know how it is, Dad. How _she_ is. I'm just not ready. Not yet."

Jim's shoulders sag as his head shakes and the muscles in Kate's neck and back release, her body relaxing back into Rick's chest.

"Fine," he sighs. "But only because I'm enjoying the relatively stress free existence that has come with the truce you two have going at the moment. It would be nice to prolong it. Besides-" he gives a wink and a smile grows on Kate's lips. "I'd hate to just give her the opportunity to say 'I told you so'. She's made me eat kale smoothies three days this week. She's going to have to earn her next gloat."

"Thank you, Dad," Kate says, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He squeezes her in return, one hand patting the middle of her back. "And I promise, you'll get your chance to sit down and grill him," she whispers, pressing a kiss to her dad's cheek as she slides his phone into the front pocket of his shirt. "I think you're really going to like him, though. I do."

Jim nods, his five o'clock shadow scratching at her cheek. "I'm sure I will, Katie. Especially if the way he looks at you is any indication."

The butterflies in her stomach do a jig and Kate smiles, her hair falling forward as her chin dips. Her dad steps back and reaches for his sunglasses. He slides them back on, moving the frames back and forth until they sit just the way he wants.

"Rick, it was... interesting to meet you."

"Same," Rick chuckles, once again taking the hand Jim holds out and shaking. "I hope next time is just as intriguing."

A bird takes flight from the branches above them when her dad bellows out a laugh and Kate feels the tips of her ears flush. A passing jogger stares at them and oh what she wouldn't give for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

"Be careful what you wish for, son," Jim says, still laughing. "Next time will involve my wife. Intrigue will be the least of your worries."

Kate actually hears the bob of Rick's adam's apple. Jim leans in and presses another quick kiss to her cheek.

"Don't wait too long, Katie," her dad murmurs. "The longer you wait, the worse it will be."

He's right. She knows he's right. But after everything - the arguments and nagging and set ups and walking away from every conversation feeling like a failure and a disappointment - she deserves to be able to enjoy this. To enjoy Rick without fear of meddling and to finally have a healthy relationship with her mother.

She'll come clean. She will.

One day.

"I'll try."

"I suppose that's the best I can ask for," Jim says. "Love you, Katie bug."

"Love you too, Dad. I'll call you tomorrow."

With a nod, Jim steps back onto the path and walks away, his pace slow but the limp is almost invisible. Maybe all the rabbit food is doing him some good afterall. Not that either of them will admit that to Johanna.

An overwrought groan rises up next to her ear and Kate smiles, her entire body going slack with relief.

"Oh my god, that was the worst."

Rick sinks back down to the ground, the back of his shirt peeling bark off the tree as he goes. Sweat beads along his forehead and Kate brushes her fingers across his clammy skin as she follows his path of descent. She lands on her knees in the the V of his legs, the hem of her skirt spread out over his lap.

"I'm sorry." She leans forward, her lips brushing against the pink crest of his check. "That really was not how I imagined you meeting my dad."

"That was worse than the time in seventh grade when Mandy Applebaum's dad caught us underneath the bushes with my hand up her shirt." His hands brackett her waist, tugging. "Seriously, I think I might need to change my shorts."

"I'm sorry," Kate repeats on a laugh, turning around to press her back to his chest once again. Rick's lips graze along the side of her neck and she shivers. "Just be glad it was only him. If it'd been both of them, you'd have left scorched earth in your wake when you ran."

The lips feathering over her skin still. His hand spreads over her abdomen, pulling her body as tightly to his as possible.

"I am not running, Kate," he whispers against her ear and she shivers again, goosebumps rising up along her forearms despite the heat of the day. "Not now, not ever."

Oh God, she wants that to be true.

Silence takes over and Kate closes her eyes, turning her face into the cove of his neck. Her fingertips smooth along his forearms, twirling through the soft hair until her skin starts to tingle. Rick's lips ghost across her brow, dusting along the scattered faint freckles she purposely failed to cover with make-up that morning. It's become a ritual, the way his lips run over the dots, making her finally fall in love with the marks she has only ever seen as flaws.

The vise that has finally started to ease around her heart seizes again, forcing her breath out in a rush, because the external flaws are cosmetic, easily disguised or dismissed, but the internal- the internal ones are the ones that run deep, coloring every aspect of life.

Once he digs deep enough, once they get past the thrill of existing in a world limited to their apartments and between the sheets of the bed, hidden away in the fantasy of fictions and lens, once reality sits in, will he still find the long hours she spends in the darkroom charming? Or will he tire of it, start to feel like he always comes second to the art?

What if she never sells another photograph and is left barely making ends meet? Will he find the art romantic then, or will he scold her for not having a real job? Once her mother gets in his head, makes him see past the novelty of two starving artists in love, praises him for the practicality of having a "real job", convinces him that she's better off shooting weddings and modeling sessions than-

"You're thinking too hard."

"No, I'm not."

His arms tighten around her middle, holding her against his chest until her heart begins to ease, allowing her body to sag into him once again. His breath breezes over her shoulder and she nuzzles her nose against his neck, inhaling the musky scent of his skin.

"You wanna share?"

"Not really."

"Okay." One hand moves up to brush over the line of her collarbone, warming the strip of skin his breath has left cold. "You wanna get out of here?" Kate's head pops off his shoulder and he grunts, a hand flying up to his jaw. "You really need to stop doing that before one of us breaks something."

"We should get out of here."

The words are out before his disgruntled joke makes it way through the tangle of new ideas in her mind and she dusts her fingertips along his jaw in silent apology.

"Okay."

He smiles at her as he turns to start gathering up their belongings, still scattered where they had abandoned them when her father arrived. Thankfully, neither the camera or laptop, which had been left lying on the blanket for the world to see, hadn't pulled a Houdini in their absence.

"What are you thinking- dinner? Movie? See if we can perfect that move I attempted last night? I swear if I brace my foot a little better-"

"No, I mean out of the city." She grabs for his forearms, holding him still with the Macbook tucked halfway into its protective sleeve. "We should go somewhere, just the two of us. Before school starts up again, before- before life becomes complicated again."

His head cocks to one side. "Is this about what just happened with your father?"

"No," Kate denies, her tongue bitter with the lie. Rick lifts an eyebrow at her and she sighs. "Maybe a little."

Rick nods, pushing the computer into the bag and pulling the zipper shut. He tucks the whole thing into his computer bag, eyes cast toward the ground. "I thought - I thought it went well," he mutters, large hands fidgeting with the strap of his bag. "Considering the circumstances."

"It did," Kate assures him, reaching for her own bag as he stands and slips his feet back into his flip flops.

They grab the ends of the blanket, each of them on one side, and start to fold. Rick pulls edges from her hands when they meet in the middle, latching the built in velcro strap around the bundle of fabric to hold it together.

"Then why the sudden need to run away?"

"Not run away. Escape."

He looks up at her, blue eyes unreadable for the first time in - as long as she's known him.

"Same thing."

Kate growls, one hand lifting up to scrub through her hair. Rick nods toward the sidewalk and they move in sync, bags crossed over opposite sides of their bodies. Inches separate them but it feels like miles.

"It's not - I'm not. God. I don't want to run away. Well, I do. But _with_ you, not from you." Rick plods along beside her, every second of his silence pulling at her heart. "My dad showing up today was unexpected. Obviously. And it did go well, even with as awkward as it was. But it just reminded me that this bubble we've made for ourselves is going to burst. Soon."

She's not ready for it. Not ready for him to see her -

"Why does meeting your dad equal a bursting bubble?"

"Because after my dad comes my mom. And that's -" Her words stall and he looks over at her, the backs of his sandals slapping noisily against his heels.

"What?"

The distance between them makes it impossible for her to concentrate, to find the words she needs to make him understand. Taking the risk, Kate reaches out, her fingers scrambling to link around his. He doesn't pull away and the pressure at the base of her skull eases.

"After what happened with Brent -" she starts, waiting for the stab of anxiety that usually comes from even the mention of his name. Nothing. "After that, my mom turned into someone I didn't recognize. She'd always imagined a certain life for me - successful lawyer, preferably married to another successful lawyer and all that - and when I stopped following the path she'd laid out, she did her best to drag me back onto it."

They weave through the crowded sidewalk, heading without discussion to the subway station that will take them back to her apartment. It scares her a little how easily he fits in there, his computer and notes and clothes strewn all over the place, but she likes it. Likes waking up and seeing him tucked into his favorite corner of her couch, laptop on his knees and hair sticking up. She likes him in her bed and her kitchen and her shower. Doesn't ever really want him to leave.

"Once it became apparent that she couldn't, at least not as far as my career is concerned," Kate continues, her bag heavy against her hip as they wait at a crosswalk, "she decided to focus her attention on my love life. I don't know why it matters so much to her but it does and it drove a wedge between us. I love my mom, but for the past five years, I have actively avoided her as much as possible."

"It's really that bad?"

Kate nods. "Yeah. It was non-stop. Every time I talked to her, she had a new man to tell me about. Someone who would be 'just perfect' for me. She bought me a membership to some elite professionals dating site for my thirtieth birthday. She tricked me into blind dates by sending me to restaurants on the pretense of dinner with her and my dad. Even just a couple nights before you and I met, we had a blowout over a random guy she met at a coffee shop. It's - It was exhausting, Rick."

"I can imagine."

They clamber down the steps into the station, swipe themselves through the turnstiles. His fingers still thread through hers and she squeezes them, moving around to stand in front of him. Rick looks down at her, face cast in shadows by the dim light of the platform.

"That's why I lo- like this - us - so much. We didn't need a setup or a dating site or my mother's plotting and machinations. It happened by chance and it's amazing." Kate steps in closer, her free hand lifting to palm the side of his neck. "I want to introduce you to my parents. I do. But I also just want to enjoy the bubble for just a little bit longer. Okay?"

Her heart pounds as he stares down at her. The train screams into the station, a rush of warm air whipping her hair around. His palm smooths over her cheek, pushing the wild strands out of her face, and Kate's eyes flutter. Bending at the waist, Rick presses his lips to the shell of her ear.

"Where do you want to go?"

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Rick blinks into the pillow that has become his, body spread out across the side of the bed over which he can also claim ownership. It's comfortable, more comfortable than any other bed he's ever slept in. The soft feel of the sheets against his bare skin, the way his body sinks into the mattress to the perfect depth, how he can lay with his head on the pillow and not have his heels hanging over the end of the bed. It's perfect, this bed of theirs.

Hers.

Bed of hers.

His eyes flutter closed again as he nuzzles back into the soft fluff of the pillow. It's too early in the day for his brain to be held responsible for whatever nonsense it comes up with. One hand reaches out, his fingertips tracing the expanse of sheets and he's not even surprised when he finds the space cool to the touch.

On any given morning, it's a fifty-fifty shot as to whether Kate will still be in bed when he wakes, if she even went to sleep to begin with. And then it's another bet as to whether she'll be up working at the computer or in the darkroom, or passed out on the couch with one of his manuscripts limp on her chest. But it almost never fails, if she is still asleep next to him when he wakes, she'll be nestled under the thick pile of blankets, puffing out soft a soft series of snuffled snores through parted lips with one hand extended toward him.

Smiling at the mere memory of waking up next to her, Rick rolls onto his back, arms stretching toward the headboard and toes toward the foot until a series of pops ripples down his body. Yellow-gray light seeps in through the crack between the wall and the dark curtains, and he gauges the time at somewhere in the vicinity of seven.

The coffee maker whirs to life in the kitchen confirming the accuracy of his internal clock. He brought his over the week before - the timer still set to five minutes after seven, the perfect time to start his coffee and have it piping hot for him to grab on his way out the door during the school year - when Kate's had gurgled it's last breath, spewing scalding water all over the counter as it died. He needs to recalculate the time from Kate's apartment to Marlowe before September though, make sure he doesn't need to reset the timer.

Rick's eyes shoot open, a strange energy coiling in his muscles.

It's not _that_ early.

Squirming, he shakes the lethargy from his limbs and wiggles his elbows under him, propping himself up and letting his eyes roam. He lands first on the laundry basket, his dirty clothes mixed in with hers, the ketchup stained neck of one t-shirt poking out through the open side. The bottom drawer of her dresser sits ajar and Rick cranes his neck to look at the neat stack of folded shirts and shorts and boxers she'd tucked into it earlier in the week. He'd told her she didn't need to do his laundry, that he could haul it to the laundromat down the block from his place the next time he went home, but she'd just shrugged at him. She was already doing a load of hers so it why wouldn't she toss his in too? It just made sense.

Balancing his weight on one arm, his other hand comes up to rub the sleep from his eyes as he mentally catalogues the bathroom. His toothbrush in the brushed metal holder next to the sink, his razor in the cabinet, his own shower poof - a very manly shade of green that Kate takes outsized delight in teasing him about - hanging from a hook next to his preferred scent of body wash.

He can't see the rest of the apartment around the screen but it takes very little to imagine it. His laptop charging on the desk next to Kate's own Mac, the hardback copy of a Poe anthology she gave him laying open on the coffee table. Leftovers from a meal he cooked in the refrigerator, a dedicated coffee mug in the sink, at least three pairs of shoes on the rack by the door.

Flopping back onto the mattress, Rick presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Add in a framed photo of his mother and a couple knick knacks on the shelf and he's essentially moved in after only two months.

He sucks in a deep breath, squeezes his eye tight, and waits for the panic to crest behind his ribs.

Ceramic clanks in the sink, water splashing from the faucet as Kate presumably washes one of the coffee mugs left there from the day before. His heart thumps out a regular beat, pumping adrenaline-free blood through his veins. Holding his hands in front of his face, Rick cracks open one eye.

Steady.

Soft music wafts into the room and his lips curve up in a content smile as Kate's own voice joins in the melody, washing over him like a balm. It's always like that when she's near- the press of her toes against his thigh when he's stuck on a scene, the way her gentle puffs of breath lull him to sleep, how the sound of her laugh makes the tiny hairs along the backs of his hands raise in delight. Every day is a new adventure with her, every moment the perfect opportunity for discovery. For joy.

Rick shifts in the bed again, hoisting himself up to lean against the nest of pillows by the headboard just as Kate wanders around the screen, a steaming mug of coffee in each hand. He can tell by the almost wild shine in her eyes and the underlying scent of chemicals that she has in fact been up and working for hours.

"I made coffee," she offers by way of greeting, lifting the mugs toward him like an offering.

A groan of contentment rumbles in chest as he accepts the mug - _his_ mug, the black one with the yellow handle and a chip at the base that he likes to run his pinky finger along when he's stuck on a scene - and takes his first sip.

"Oh, this is perfect."

It really is. Her apartment or his, it doesn't matter. Every day starts off perfectly if hers is the first face he sees. Rick shifts his gaze back, finds her peering at him over the rim of her own mug, eyes narrowed and assessing in the same way as when she's trying to frame the perfect shot.

"What're you thinking about over there?"

"Nothing," he lies, huffing out a laugh as one eyebrow quirks back at him. Rick shakes his head, reaching out to set his drink down on the stack of milk crates resting on their sides that serves as her nightstand. "It's nothing, really."

"Wanna share it with me anyway?" Kate asks, leaning her body against his when he lifts an arm and wiggles his fingers at her. The rounded cap of her shoulder slots perfectly into the hollow of his underarm and she relaxes into him, her neck supported by his bicep and coffee cradled to her chest.

Rick wraps his fingers around her opposite shoulder and presses a kiss to the side of her head, inhaling the familiar spicy scent of his own shampoo. A grin tickles at his lips and he lets it spread, a strand of her hair catching in the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth. He's caught her using his shampoo a few times now and even though she says it's just because his bottle was the first one she grabbed, he's pretty sure there's more to it than that.

"Was just realizing that I should probably give up writing mysteries and start churning out movie scripts for Hallmark."

"And what brought on this revelation?" She snorts out the question, the coffee in her mug rippling.

Her head bobbles when he shrugs. "The thought that no matter what else is going on in the world, everything feels perfect when I'm with you."

Kate lifts her cup, pressing it into the dip of her smile. "Someone woke up feeling sappy this morning."

"Says the woman who currently smells like Old Spice," Rick teases, flicking a finger through the ends of her hair and coughing when her elbow connects with his ribs. "Hey, now. Be gentle with the merchandise," he chastises, reaching over to rub at his side. "You break it, you buy it."

Kate squirms, snugging her body even closer to his as she turns to lay on one hip. Her leg slithers over his and the base of her mug rests on the slope of his bare stomach as she sighs.

"I wouldn't be opposed to buying," she breathes and his heart gives a kick.

"That's -" He stumbles, swallows. "That's good to know."

"Though I'm not sure if I'd want to break it first," she clarifies, knee coming up to flirt with the front of his boxers. "I like you in full working order."

His laugh makes her whole body shake. Kate lets out a plaintive whine when he pries the coffee from her hand and deposits it next to his on the night stand. The whine morphs into a whimper when he rolls into her, open mouth crawling along the graceful arch of her neck. Her nails curl into his sides and he rolls further still, settling his hips between her thighs and pressing her body down into the cool cotton sheets.

"What do you have planned for today?" He asks as one of her feet glides up the back of his thigh, her back arching.

"Supposed to meet Sophia for a lesson."

The way she groans when his teeth graze her collarbone makes his toes curl under, the pads pressed tight to the balls. Rick shifts one leg out to the side and his body drops down onto hers, the heat of her torso scalding him through the thin material of her t-shirt.

"When?"

Dear god, please don't let it be soon.

"Ten," Kate huffs and he grins.

"Plenty of time for you to break me then."

Shaking her head, Kate lifts up, body pressing into his until he moves with her, lets her roll them over. His feet dangle off the side of the bed as her knees snug against his hips, one hand sliding down the length of his abdomen and the other resting firmly over the left side of his chest. Her hair, still a little damp from the shower and curling at the ends, falls in a curtain around their faces.

"I don't want to break you, Rick," she hums, pupils wide and eyes flicking back and forth between his. Her fingers curve against his chest, the tips pressing hard into his skin. "Ever."

Lifting his shoulders, he takes her mouth in a hot kiss, one hand fisting in the back of her shirt and the other grabbing at her hair. Kate sighs out his name, her body melting down into his. Fear and anxiety well up inside his chest and he channels it into touching her, into showing with his lips and hands and hips just how much he cares. How much he too wants to keep her whole.

Even if he knows he can't.

* * *

For the first time since he had discovered the little coffee shop, Rick doesn't find the chime of the bell over the door comforting. It feels foreign to him now, even more so than on his initial visit. The tables are too small and too close together, the patrons too loud and the light too dim. The homey feeling he always got here - the warmth that had bloomed in his gut, loosening the words and making them flow - is nowhere to be found.

"Richard!" Brenda waves at him from behind the counter, her other hand wiping a rag over the counter in smooth circles. He forces a sweaty palm up in return, even as his stomach lurches into his throat. "Long time no see. You having another bout of writer's block?"

"Oh - No. No," he replies, stumbling over this words in response to the unexpected question. "Actually, I've been writing a lot."

Like a man possessed, according to Kate. Though, she's one to talk with all the time she spends tucked away in her dark room.

"Well, that's wonderful to hear!" The rag hits the countertop with a damp thump and Brenda steps to the side, hands reaching for the espresso machine and a mug. She grins at him, sliding the espresso filter into its slot and pressing the brew button. "I'll try not to be offended that you found another coffee shop to do it in."

A tiny piece of that old comfortable feeling lights up inside his chest with the reflection of Brenda's smile. His shoulders drop and his fists release, lips curling up into a smile for the first time since Kate sashayed out the door of her apartment two hours ago, a canvas she refused to let him see tucked into the portfolio under her arm.

"I haven't been stepping out on you, Brenda," Rick says, his grin widening as she throws her head back to laugh. "I'm a one coffee shop writer. I've just been spending a lot of time with -"

"A certain photographer?" Brenda asks, a mischievous glint in her eye as she pours the milk into his mug. Rick cocks his head to the side, brows furrowing. "Johanna told me," she elaborates, scooping a last dollop of foam into the cup before handing it to him. "She said she's pretty sure you two were getting fairly serious about each other."

The pit inside his gut opens again, extinguishing the light and threatening to swallow him whole. Stuffing the cash Brenda refuses to accept from him into her tip jar, he grips the handle of the mug, squeezing until the tips of his fingers tingle.

"That's actually why I'm here. I need to get in touch with Johanna and I obviously can't ask Kate for her number so -" He shrugs, takes a nervous sip of the coffee, the already bitter taste made worse by what he's here to do. "I thought maybe you could give it to me."

Brenda nods and reaches under the register. She comes back up with a pad and pen, already scribbling out Johanna Beckett's phone number before he can even start to voice his gratitude.

"I'll give you this," she says, ripping off the paper and passing it to him across the bar, "but if you wait about ten minutes, Johanna should be showing up. Her book club meets here."

Oh. He hadn't -

But maybe face to face is better.

"Thanks, Brenda. I'll just go -" He dips his head toward the back of the room and Brenda nods. "Thanks for the coffee," he says lifting the mug in a little salute.

"Any time."

The guilt he's gotten so good at repressing rears its head as Rick makes his way through the cafe. He picks a table half-hidden in shadows, spins around to double check that he can't been seen from the windows lining the storefront. The cloak and dagger of it all would probably give him a thrill in any other circumstance but in this moment all it does is ratchet up the level of acid backing up into his esophagus.

His chair rocks on uneven legs as his knee jiggles non-stop under the table. He rocks with it, ignoring the annoyed looks from the mohawked young woman two tables over. The foam in his mug deflates as the coffee grows cold, sticky remnants of it clinging to the porcelain in abstract patterns.

Shit, he should have brought his computer.

Not that he'd even be able to write in his current state, his entire body a live wire dangling over an ever expanding puddle of secrets and lies. But he could at least fake it a little instead of jerking half out of his chair every time the door chimes and gnawing on his cuticles.

His thumb squeaks against the glass screen of his phone. He cycles through apps, opening and closing them without ever really seeing. An errant touch brings up his photo album, the very first shot a picture of the two of them, Kate's grinning lips pressed to his cheek and the sunset turning her hair into a golden waterfall. Something cracks inside his chest and he drops the phone, fingers burning.

This is going to end so fucking badly.

The jangle of the bell followed by a ringing laugh pulls his head up and Rick pops out of his chair, the uneven legs wobbling against the tiled floor. Johanna stands just past the threshold, a thick book tucked into the crook of her elbow, chatting with a group of five other middle-aged women, all clutching their own copies of the same pastel tome.

"Johanna."

Her head whips around, mouth slamming shut. Something he can't quite read flashes in her eyes and he watches her shoulders roll back, a move he's seen Kate pull on her more difficult shoots, preparing herself for battle.

"I'll meet you at the table," Johanna says, motioning toward the six seater table with the reserved sign in the middle of the shop. "Feel free to start without me, gals."

The women amble away, still chatting. Rick ignores the smug grin that paints her lips as she saunters over and slides into the empty seat at his table, legs crossed casually and book settled in her lap.

"Sit down, Rick," Johanna commands, pointing at his askew chair. "You're making me nervous with all that looming."

Rick plops into the chair, eyes dancing around the room. His fingers flit across the table top and he reaches for the mug, spinning the porcelain around and in around in his hands as he left knee bounces.

"Well, this is a surprise," Johanna drawls, ignoring his every fidget. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I mean, assuming you are in fact here to see me."

His chin jerks in his best approximation of a nod. "I came to get your number from Brenda but she said you'd be here soon so -"

"You waited."

He nods again. "Johanna, I - I have to tell her," he blurts, all pleasantries forgotten as beads sweat pop up along his hairline. "Soon. I need to tell her."

The smirk slides off her face, landing in a puddle of disapproval at the corners of her mouth.

"And what exactly do you think that is going to accomplish?" Johanna asks, the steel in her voice matched by the hard glint in her green eyes. "What good will telling her do?"

"It will give her the ability to make an informed decision," Rick rebuts. "To make her own choice about our relationship."

Johanna leans forward, every bit the lawyer as one finger stabs at the middle of the tabletop, and he has to fight the urge to shrink away from her, to curl over one himself and hide.

"But she _has_ made that choice," she says, eyebrow flicking up. "She has made the choice to be in a relationship with you."

"No, she hasn't." Johanna's eyebrow cocks even higher. "Okay, fine, she has but it was a decision made under false pretenses and you know it. She thinks that we met on our own. By fate or chance or luck, whatever she chooses to call it. But we didn't."

"So what?" Johanna asks. "What Katie doesn't know can't hurt her."

"But it can." Ricks sighs, lets the coffee cup clatter to the table. He runs a hand through his hair, scratching blunt nails against his scalp. "It hurts me."

"Rick -"

"I met your husband last week," he cuts in, guilt knifing through his chest at the way her eyes go wide, first with surprise and then something he recognizes as pain. "It wasn't intentional, he just ran into us at the park. And it went pretty well, right up until the moment he pulled out his phone to call you."

He punctuates the last statement with an apologetic look, trying to soften the blow. A flush colors Johanna's cheeks as she leans back in the chair- another look he's seen too many times on Kate- and his stomach churns again.

"I stood there and watched Kate panic at idea of you even knowing about me, much less meeting me, Johanna. I watched her steal the phone right out of her father's hand to keep it from you."

"She did that?"

He nods, sympathy he doesn't really want to feel for her rising up in his chest. "She did. And we talked about it after. She told about the strained relationship you two have had over the years, about your obsession - her word, not mine - with her love life. For the first time, I really understood why she has been so insistent on keeping us apart."

"She has her reasons," Johanna concedes.

"Which is why I have to tell her," he repeats. "And I know she will get mad at me, and you, and it might even break us up, but what's the alternative? Continue to lie to her for the rest of our lives?" Rick shakes his head, dismissing the idea out of hand. "Kate deserves better than that, better than a man who has lied to her since the moment we met. And it's eating me alive, I have to- I can't. I just can't do this anymore."

"I'm not going to try to talk you out of it," Johanna says, laughing a little at the face he gives her. "I'm not. I'm just going to say this - Why do you really want to tell her, Rick? To help her or to help yourself?" She holds up a hand and his jaw pops shut. "Because, yes, it will unburden you. It will ease your conscience. But it will hurt her. Terribly, by the sound of things."

He can see it in his mind's eye, the way her eye will go wide and cold, the light he adores snuffed out. How she'll curl in on herself, arms folded around her middle to protect her scared heart from the blows. The tremble of her chin, the curl of her fingers, the paleness of her cheeks as all the color leaks from her face.

Just the mental image makes him want to cry. To burrow into a hole and never come out.

"So," Johanna continues, a softness around the words that he wants to hate her for but can't, "which would you rather live with- a small white lie of omission, or the knowledge that you hurt someone you obviously care about and destroyed not one but two relationships in the process?"

She stands and pushes in her chair, book tucked into the crook of on elbow. Gold flecks in her eyes catch the light and he has to look away, pain stabbing through chest.

"Think about it, Rick. Really think about it before you make a decision you can't take back."

Without another word, Johanna turns and walks away.

* * *

 _Due to unforeseen circumstances, we will now be posting on a biweekly basis. Thank you for your understanding._

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Kate stands in the middle of her apartment, hands planted on her hips and bottom lip pulled between her teeth. An open duffle bag sits at her feet and she curls her toes under, careful to keep her freshly painted nails off the floor. The end of her french braid tickles the skin at the base of her neck as she waffles.

Screw it.

Striding back into the bedroom, she pulls open the top drawer of her dresser and sticks her hand in, digging past the neatly folded stacks of underwear and balls of socks until she feels silk. With two fingers, she pulls the negligee out, the light pink fabric shimmering almost white in the sunlight. A price tag bearing a number much higher than she has ever paid for an article of clothing hangs off one of the spaghetti straps. She tugs at the plastic string with her teeth until it snaps in two, and tosses the little piece of paper at the garbage can next to her bed.

Refusing to think about the implications of taking lingerie purchased for her by her mother on her first romantic getaway with her boyfriend, Kate folds the slinky gown and matching sheer panties into the bottom of her bag, tucking them under a stack of folded skirts. She scoops the toiletry kit off the floor and nestles it on top, tugging the zipper closed with a little nod of finality.

The apartment door slides open just as the printer finishes spitting out the two train tickets. Kate closes out of the browser and powers down the desktop. Rick always makes fun of her for her habit of turning all of her electronics completely off when she's done with them, refusing to hear her justifications about power bills and wastefulness.

"Hey," he says, stuffing the keyring bearing shiny new copies of keys to both her building and her apartment into the loose pocket of his shorts. A rolling suitcase larger than anyone really needs for a three day stay at an inn in upstate New York sits just inside the door, his laptop bag balanced on top. "You ready?"

She grabs the papers off the printer tray and waves them at him before folding them into thirds and stuffing them into the front pocket of her satchel.

"Yep."

Rick meets her in the middle of the living room, his nails catching on the lace hem of her tanktop as his hands cup her waist. He gives her a grin, the lopsided one that makes him look like a twelve year old going on his first date, and her heart flips against her ribs. Her fingers grip his elbows, holding on tight as he jiggles her gently from side to side.

"I'm really excited about this," he stage-whispers, the rasp in his throat making her stomach take a sudden trip down to her knees.

"You're just excited about the train."

"Not true."

Kate feels her eyebrow crawl up toward her hairline.

"Okay, yes, the train part of things does give me a certain -" he wags his brow at her and she doesn't even try to swallow back the giggle "- tingly feeling, but really I'm just excited about spending time with you."

"You spend all your time with me," she tosses back and he sighs, bottom lip falling out in a pout that she wants to press her own mouth against.

"Not like this. This is special."

"Yeah?"

He nods, wide eyes sparkling in the mid-morning light.

"Yeah."

Her chin dips and Rick huffs out a laugh, fingers crawling around to meet at the small of her back. Kate leans into him, lets his body support hers, her head coming to rest on his left shoulder. Rick sways them back and forth, humming softly, and her eyes flutter closed. The warm, spicy notes of his cologne fill her nose, remind her of pumpkin pie and crackling fires and the brisk nip of Autumn air against her cheeks.

"We'll have to go back," she murmurs, the collar of his button up shirt catching at her bottom lip. "In the Fall."

His chuckle makes her whole body shake.

"Shouldn't we make it through our first trip before we start planning a second? You might hate it."

"Not possible."

"You might hate me," he whispers and Kate snorts out a laugh, leaning back to look up at him through her lashes.

Lifting up onto her toes, she gives in to her desire and presses a slow, soft kiss to the pout of his bottom lip. His nails dig into her back and he rocks forward, a moan rumbling low in his throat. Her hands slide up the backs of his arms and she grips his shoulders, pulls herself closer, tongue sliding along the length of his.

"Also not possible," Kate says when they break apart, her fingers playing with the fine hair at the base of his skull.

Rick dips down again, catching her in a kiss so soft she's not even sure it's real.

"Good to know," he whispers, fingers pulling up the hem of her shirt until the tips can smooth over her skin. Goosebumps lift up along the length of her spine and she shivers when the edge of his thumbnail scrapes at the waistband of her skirt. "What time is our train again?"

"Eleven," she says, swaying on loose ankles. "We need to be at the station by ten."

"So not enough time for -" He nods toward the bed and she laughs, deep and husky.

"If there's one thing we've proven in there, Rick -"

"Only one?"

"It's that we've definitely taken that whole lingering thing and made it an art."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Rolling her eyes, Kate steps back, breaking out of his hold. She starts gathering up her bags, body still tingling from proximity to his.

"It's not," she says, looping her satchel over her shoulder and settling the bulk on her hip. "Usually. But when we have a train to catch or tickets to a movie-"

"You already said you didn't really want to see that _Independence Day_ sequel anyway," Rick cuts in, shooing her hands away from the strap of her duffle. He hooks it over his own shoulder and she huffs at him.

"No, but I did want to see _Ghostbusters_."

"Says the woman who has staunchly refused to believe even a single one of my stories of paranormal experiences."

Laughing, Kate pulls open the door, bumping it with her shoulder when it sticks. She waves Rick out into the hall and flips off the lights, smiling as the key turns in the lock. This weekend is going to be amazing. He may want her to wait to make that declaration but she doesn't need to.

The two of them together, how could it not be perfect?

"Forgetting that you drank the last of the milk and then blaming it on a lactose based poltergeist is not a paranormal experience, Rick," she says, following him down the stairs. "It's just your wild imagination at work."

"You like my wild imagination and you know it," he shoots back over his shoulder, pushing open the front door. He holds it open for her, grabbing her wrist as she walks past. His fingers slide down her palm, lacing between her own, and Kate leans into his side, a bubble of warmth expanding inside her chest.

"I do," she says pressing a kiss to the top of his bicep. "It's one of my favorite things about you."

"Oh, yeah?"

She nods and he shakes their joined hands, jiggling her arm.

"Tell me some others," Rick encourages, bouncing on springy knees as they turn toward the subway.

"Nah," she retorts, crinkling her nose up at him as he pouts at her again. "Don't want to risk inflating your ego too much. But I do -"

Kate swallows around the soft L forming on the back of her throat. Not yet.

"I do really admire how you're never afraid to be yourself, especially with me. No pretending to be something other than who you are just so I'll like you." Pushing up onto her toes, she feathers a kiss along his jaw. "Thank you for being real," she whispers and he just nods, the endless well of words seemingly dry.

"Now come on." Kate tugs on his fingers, steering him toward the entrance to the subway. "The sooner we get there, the sooner you can see if you can romance the pants off of me."

"You're not wearing pants," he points out and Kate rolls her eyes at him. "And, you know, one of these days I'm going to expect you to romance the pants off of me instead. Just in the name of fairness."

"Oh, I have plans for your pants, Mr. Rodgers," Kate tosses back, looking up at him, her lips curling into a predatory grin, "and every single one involves them being in a pile on the floor."

* * *

The lense of her D90 rests against the window, the shutter clicking at rapid fire speed as they fly past a pasture, the grass so green it almost looks fake. A flock of birds takes flight from a far off tree and Kate angles the camera up, trying to capture the furious swirl and flap. She knows without even checking that not a single one of them will be anything more than a blur but it doesn't matter. Not today. The sun peeks over the crest of a ridge and she hesitates, her finger hovering over the shutter as she breathes.

Beautiful.

The fingers resting on her knee flex and her own knuckle jerks, snapping one last picture of the landscape. Lowering the camera, Kate settles back against her seat. She lets the back of her head roll against the red vinyl, looking over at the half-asleep man next her her. Just like a little kid, the excitement of the morning has left him droopy eyed and clingy, his body heavy and warm against her side.

"You didn't have to stop on my account," Rick sniffs. He jerks his chin toward the window, the hand resting in his own lap lifting up to flutter at the passing scenery. "Keep shooting."

"I only brought one extra memory card," Kate says. "Don't want to waste it all on the trip up."

Rick gives her a sleepy smile, lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes.

"Good plan," he mumbles. "You're so smart."

A laugh catches in her throat.

"You gonna nap?"

He nods.

"Trains make me sleepy." The hand on her leg lifts and she shivers, goosebumps popping up along the uncovered skin. Rick makes a rocking motion in mid-air, tilting his hand back and forth. "All the swaying."

Kate hums her understanding and he lets his hand fall, fingers landing in a natural splay over her thigh. Settling his weight on one hip, Rick leans toward her, his head coming to rest on the slope of her shoulder. His breath washes down over her chest, setting off ripples in the ever-present pool of emotion deep in her gut. Kate sucks in a deep breath and looks toward the window again, her chest full of warmth.

Soft, snuffling snores puff through his lips half an hour later. He mumbles something in his sleep - a habit she's observed on countless occasions now yet he still denies - and his brow crinkles, the middle folding up like an accordion.

Unable to resist the temptation, Kate lifts the camera from her chest, careful not to jostle him, and aims it at the window, trying to catch the reflection of his face in the glass. The shutter snicks and she lowers the lens, framing a shot of his hand on her leg- the pad of his thumb pressed to the outside of her knee and his long, thick fingers curled protectively around the circumference of her thigh.

"What is it with you and taking pictures of me while I sleep?"

The muscles in her core jump and Rick chuckles next to her, wiping at his mouth as he sits up. He rolls his head from side to side, groaning low in his chest as a series of soft pops reverberates from his neck.

"It's the only time I can get you with your mouth shut," Kate teases, her eyes locked on the thin strip of skin exposed along his abdomen as he stretches. "Plus," she shrugs, "You're pretty."

"I knew it. You only like me for my rugged handsomeness."

"Yep. You caught me." She lifts the Nikon and waggles it at him. "I'm only with you for the art. The camera adores you."

"The camera, huh?" One brown eyebrow quirks and she swallows.

"Well, I mean -"

The metal wheels of the train squeal and hiss as they slow. A crackling voice from the overhead speakers announces their stop as the rest of the passengers come alive around them, reaching to the racks for bags and gathering sleeping children from seats.

"Come on, Kate." Rick smiles down at her as he lumbers from his seat, sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt and blue eyes sparkling. "Let's go have an adventure."

* * *

"This way," Kate says, tipping her head as they reach the platform, halting Rick's momentum toward the pick-up line. "We have to go get our car."

"Car?" He stares at her with the same expression she's seen when he's trying to decipher a brain teaser or solve the Times' Sunday crossword. "I thought the inn had a shuttle?"

"It does," Kate nods, her body angled back toward the arrow pointing to the rental desks. "But there are some places I want to take you that it doesn't go. Plus," she adds with a shrug, "since the accident, I've only ever ridden in cars with people I trust driving. A stranger in a shuttle doesn't really qualify."

Rick follows her silently to the desk and she can feel his eyes on her through the entirety of her transaction with the rental agent. The keys feels strange in her hand as they make their way to the small parking lot off the side of the platform. A train idles on the tracks and she stops, the camera lifting to her eye without any real thought.

Rick leans against the passenger side of their car - a sensible and safe sedan - when she turns around. Kate presses the button on the key fob to unlock the trunk and they pack their bags in.

"Here," she says, slamming the trunk shut and pressing the keys into his palm. "Let me get my phone. I have the inn's address saved in my GPS."

Kate pops open the passenger side door and slides into the seat, phone in hand. She pulls up the GPS app on her phone, watches the little car pop onto the middle of the screen. An electronic female voice gives her the instructions for their first turn and Kate drops the phone into her lap, and reaches for her seatbelt before she realizes she's alone.

She looks in the mirror on the side of the door, sees Rick still standing behind the car, keys in hand and brow deeply furrowed. Kate reaches for the handle and climbs back out of the car, tossing her phone into the empty passenger seat.

"Rick? You okay?"

"You -" He looks at his hand, his fingers clenched around the keys, and then to her. "You want me to drive?"

The last few minutes replay in her head and Kate sighs. She never actually told him, did she?

"Yeah, Rick," she says, walking over to him. Her fingers close around his fist, gently prying open his death grip on the key. "I want you to drive. I haven't - I haven't driven in eleven years and while I hope I can eventually get there again, I know I'm not ready yet. But this -" She brushes her thumb across the base of his hand, nail scraping lightly at his skin - "This I'm ready for. I trust you."

Kate looks him in the eyes, lets him see the truth of her words. He leans down, his lips feathering against hers and his keyless hand cupping the back of her neck. Kate sinks into him, chin tilted up and one hand resting over the steady, strong thump of his heart.

Someone wolf-whistles in the distance and Rick grins against her mouth, the hand on her neck sliding down the length of her back until he can circle her waist. Her muscles flex and he leans forward, dipping her until the tip of her braid brushes against the packed gravel of the parking lot.

Another round of whistling starts up and Rick stands, pulling her with him. The shouted suggestion that they should get a room makes him laugh as he pulls open the car door and ushers her back into the passenger seat.

"I'm not sure we're going to make it that far," Rick grins, hands doing a little more roaming than strictly necessary as he helps her buckle the seat belt. "Think we could find a nice, secluded spot on the side of that mountain?"

Kate waves the phone at him with a wink. "Look at the GPS, Rick. You really think it takes a full hour to get to the inn from here?"

The car rocks as he darts back in, his lips hot and wet against hers.

"You truly are the perfect woman, Katherine Beckett."

* * *

Rose bushes and small flowering plants line the gravel path from the parking lot to the inn. Dainty. Quaint. It's almost like they've stepped out of upstate New York and into the English countryside. Bright yellow butterflies dart from plant to plant, dancing around the hum of bumblebees and Kate threads her fingers through Rick's. He drops her hand only a second later, scooting forward to beat her to the door. Tugging it open, he dips forward in a deep bow as she passes over the threshold laughing.

Silly chivalrous man.

"Getting a jump on that pants romancing?"

Thick fingers pinch lightly at her backside as she passes. "I think that pit stop on the side of the mountain took care of that."

Her laugh bounces around the cozy lobby, the dark wood walls studded with framed prints. A young woman waves at them from behind the desk and Kate smiles back at her. Rick piles their bags on a green and blue pinstriped couch next to the front door - the middle cushion sagging with age - and wanders off, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts.

"Hi," Kate says, her satchel bumping against her hip as she approaches the counter. "We have a reservation for Beckett."

"Welcome to the Birchwood Inn, Ms. Beckett," the girl - Lydia, according to the shiny gold name plate affixed to her chest - chirps, her auburn ponytail swinging as she taps at the computer keyboard. "Just one moment while I pull up your reservation."

The taps continue and Kate turns on the spot, her back pressed against the rounded edge of the counter as she watches Rick. He trails slowly around the front room, head dipping from one side to the other as he looks at the pictures, lingering on some and quickly passing others.

"Kate," he calls over one shoulder, finger tapping on the wall next to a cluttered grouping of frames, "look at this."

The hem of her skirt flirts with the backs of her knees as she crosses the room. Her hands find their way around his waist on their own and Kate lets her fingers lace together over the gentle slope of his stomach. Pressing up onto the balls of her feet, she rests her chin on Rick's shoulder, eyes scanning the glossy prints behind the glass.

The angles are all wrong and the framing is off but even with the clearly amateur eye behind the lens, Kate finds herself taken in. Multi-color balloons dot the clear blue sky in each picture, wicker baskets suspended from their open bottoms. Orange flames blaze in a few of the pictures and she reframes the shots in her mind. She can almost feel the hard floor of the basket against her back as she aims her imaginary camera up into the mouth of the balloon, catching the exact moment of ignition.

"Aren't they great?" Rick asks, one hand covering hers. "I mean, they're not as good as yours, but there's just something about them. You can feel it- the excitement of the photographer."

Kate nods, her chin jutting into the depression just on the other side of his collarbone as she smiles. God, she loves when he talks about art.

"They clearly loved the subject. That can make any picture a great one."

"Those were taken by the owner of the inn," Lydia says, walking up behind them. Kate drops to her heels and turns, taking the metal key from the Lydia's outstretched hand. "He loves hot air balloons. His wife actually had to talk him out of naming this place The Wicker Basket."

"Ew," Rick laughs, turning away from the wall. "Good call."

Lydia wrinkles her nose, her freckled nostrils flaring slightly.

"Yeah, I love my job but I'm not sure I could have worked at place called The Wicker Basket. It sounds like a cross between -"

"A horror movie and a page twenty-five of the Kama Sutra," Rick finishes, hissing when Kate's elbow connects with his flank.

"Not exactly where I was going," Lydia says, her voice bouncing with a giggle, "but close enough. Anyway," she shakes her head, shoulders rolling back as her professional face makes a reappearance, "you're in room fourteen. Just head up the stairs and take a right. And I made those dinner reservations you asked for, Ms. Beckett."

"Thank you," Kate says, pressing her palm to the small of Rick's back and steering him toward their bags. "For seven?"

"Yes," Lydia confirms with a nod. "And there are maps of the town and surrounding areas at the desk if you need them."

"Anything interesting going on this weekend we should check out?" Rick asks, lumbering back over with her duffle looped over one shoulder and his suitcase rolling along beside him.

"You'll find a list of all local activities in your room but off the top of my head, I can't really think of anything of note. If you'd been here a few weeks ago -" she points at the wall and smiles - "you could have seen the hot air balloon festival."

"That's an annual event?"

Lydia nods, backing toward the front desk. "Every summer. There's a usually a band and food vendors. It's a fun weekend."

"Then I guess we'll just have to come back," Kate says, her fingers crawling down the length of Rick's palm and slipping between his. She can't hold back the smile that pulls at her lips when he presses a kiss to her temple.

"Sounds like a plan to me."

* * *

Morning light filters through the curtains, a rose hue painting the soft cream walls of the room. Kate closes her eyes again and rolls onto her side, her mind suspended in that delicious place between sleep and waking. She nestles into the wall of warmth radiating from the other side of the bed. Her nose presses to Rick's back and one arm slides around his waist. Her knees fit into the empty spaces behind his and she curls her toes, tensing and releasing all the deliciously strained muscles in her legs and back. Perfect.

She _definitely_ has to break out the lingerie more often. Preferably some she buys herself. Though if the way he looked at her last night serves as any indication, she should probably expect to receive a gift of the skimpy and lace variety in the near future.

"What are you giggling about back there?"

The gravelly rumble of his voice sets off a fresh wave of heat through her veins and Kate scoots closer to him, her hips pressing against the firm roundness of his oh so perfect ass. She scratches her fingernails through the trail of hair under his navel, smile growing as he hums and shifts into her touch.

"Just thinking about last night," Kate answers, twirling her index finger down through the patch of coarse hair between his hips.

"Which part?" He hums out the question, ribs vibrating against her breasts, and Kate presses her thighs together, teeth catching at her bottom lip as she relishes the burn. "That obscenely juicy steak dinner?"

"No."

"The sinfully decadent chocolate torte we had for dessert?"

"Nope," Kate says, the "p" popping as her lips brush against the unbelievably soft patch of skin between his shoulder blades.

"The part where I fell off the sidewalk because because of your merciless teasing?"

Kate lifts onto one elbow, leaning the weight of her body into him as she moves to press her nose into the hollow behind his ear. His hips flex as she blows across his neck, hand slipping down until -

"Uh uh," she mutters, curling her fingers. He rewards the smooth twist of her wrist with an audible, groaning gulp. Kate presses in closer, molding the length of her body against his, her knee sneaking up over his thigh. "Though that was fun."

"For you, maybe," Rick croaks, hips starting to rock as he reaches back with one arm, fingers sliding into the cove of her bent knee. He tugs, pulling her closer. "I'm the one who was sailing head first into oncoming traffic."

"Oh yeah, that pedicab almost mowed you right down."

"He totally could have taken me out, Kate. Did you see the size of his thighs?"

The skin on his neck still tastes like his cologne from the night before. And sweat. Oh, the _sweat_. Kate presses the tip of her tongue against the hard twitch of his pulse, her nose brushing against the sharp line of his jaw. Her lips close and she sucks, the muscles in her forearm flexing as she continues her slow and steady ministrations. Rick groans, low and dirty, and she releases the sensitive skin of his neck with a pop.

"Do you _really_ want me talking about the size of another man's body parts right now, Rick?"

The cream colored walls blur in front of her eyes and Kate squeaks, her legs falling open to accommodate the breadth of his waist as her back hits the bed, the feather mattress topper cradling her hips and shoulder blades. Soft hands smooth up her sides and her back arches, a moan rolling up from her middle as the weight of his body settles over hers.

"How about we just not talk at all?"

Kate presses the back of her head down into the pillow, one eyebrow creeping up to her hairline as she smirks up at him. "I thought you liked it when I whispered filthy little things into your ear?"

Messy brown hair flops wildly against his forehead as he nods, his right cheek dented with the imprint of wrinkles from his pillow case. One hand slips down the length of her ribs, through the dip of her waist and over the flare of her hip. The pads of his fingers pull up goosebumps along the back of her thigh as he makes his way down to her knee and beyond, long arm stretching out until he circles the knobby protrusion of her ankle. Rick lets his head fall forward, lips grazing along her jaw. His tongue flirts with her earlobe and she grins.

"Go ahead, Kate," he whispers. "Talk dirty to me."

The fingers of one hand thread through the silky hair at the back of his head and Kate lifts off the pillow, lips pressing against the thin skin in front of his ear.

"This inn serves a grilled cheese sandwich at brunch," Kate whispers, the words so husky that she doesn't even recognize her own voice.

"Oh my God," he groans and she swallows back a laugh, her ribs shaking with the effort. "More."

"An ooey, gooey, award winning sandwich with _three_ different cheeses," Kate purrs, hips rocking as she recites the description from the website, each word breathier than the last, "on fresh baked sourdough slathered with melted garlic butter and with a side of savory caramelized onion -"

A finger presses into her lips and Rick rises above her. The left side of his mouth curls up in a playful smirk and her stomach flips, months of barely repressed emotions bubbling up, tickling at the back of her tongue. She had a plan. But now, here, looking up at him like this -

Screw the plan.

"Rick," she mumbles around the pressure of his index finger, "I-"

He shakes his head, dipping down to replace his finger with the wet slide of lips. "No more talking," he hums, tongue catching at the bow of her upper lip. A hand slides down her stomach, seeking fingers soft but insistent. His thumb dips into her navel and she shivers. "Not unless you want this to be over far, far too quickly."

Kate opens her mouth to say... something, but his hips rock and fingers curl and all she can do is sigh.

* * *

"Okay, turn left here."

Rick spins the wheel with the flat palm of his right hand, guiding the car off the paved road and onto a smooth dirt path. Trees rise up around them and Kate ducks her head under the shoulder strap of her seatbelt, only the lap belt securing her in the car. The wind catches at her hair as she leans out the window, camera pointed up at the canopy of maple and pine.

"I can totally see through your shirt right now," Rick says, reaching over to run the tip of a finger along the exposed slice of midriff between her khaki shorts and t-shirt. "Remind me to buy you a _lot_ more white clothing."

With a snort, Kate pulls herself back into the car. She rests the camera in the cradle of her lap and reaches for the hand still flirting with her midsection, running the pads of her fingers over his knuckles. "You do remember me being completely naked like an hour ago, right?"

"As if I could ever forget an instance when you're unclothed," Rick tosses back, turning into the gravel parking lot she points at but she's barely listening as he continues on. "That doesn't mean I can't appreciate the simple beauty of sunlight through white cotton. Especially when that scrap of black lace you very generously call a bra is in the mix."

The gear shift pops as he slides it into park and even as the car is still rocking to a stop, Kate reaches for the door handle and scrambles out. The wooden rails of the fence cut into her thighs as she leans against it, finger pressing down on the shutter just in time.

"Was it the bra comment?" Rick asks, hiking boots crunching against the gravel as he walks up behind her. "I promise not to mention your underwear again if you promise not to jump out of any more moving vehicles."

"It was already in park," Kate calls back, beckoning him closer with a jerk of her chin. "But even if it hadn't been, it would have been worth it for this."

She lifts the camera and Rick presses up behind her, the front of his shirt cool from the car's air conditioning. His arms bracket her waist, hands wrapping around the top rail of the fence, and he leans in close, chin hanging over her shoulder. Kate taps at the preview screen with her nail, already picturing in her mind's eye how the blown up print will look hanging from the wires in her dark room.

"Whoa," Rick murmurs, warm breath pouring down the side of her neck. "That's amazing."

The wide brown and white wingspan of the hawk stares back at her and pride swells in her chest. A shot like this is a photographer's dream. The mythical shot that wildlife photographers spend hours, days, weeks in the wilderness to capture. A goddamn unicorn. And she has it. Not blurred. Not a second too early or too late. It's perfect- the image of the majestic bird mid-flight, the hawk's talons hooked into the side of a trout, its scales shimmering in the sunlight -and she got it because of him. Because he's here with her.

"How did you even see that?"

"I was watching it from the car," Kate says. "I love birds of prey. They're smart, beautiful, cunning. Ruthless. They remind me a bit of my mom, actually," she laughs.

Rick huffs out a chuckle against her ear. Euphoria pumps through her veins, a surge of adrenaline prolonging her high and she grabs his wrist, dragging him toward the path up to the cliff before she starts to second guess herself.

"Come on, there's something I want to show you. It's actually the reason I picked this place."

He trots along happily behind her and even without seeing his face she can imagine the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he teases her. "You mean it wasn't the award winning grilled cheese sandwich?"

"That was just a bonus," she shoots back on a laugh, her camera thumping against her chest as she turns, walking backward to give him a sly grin. "This is even better."

"Better than the sandwich I will more than likely end up having highly inappropriate dreams about? I'll believe it when I see it."

"Just you wait, Rick," Kate laughs, turning back around. "Just you wait."

They hike up the path in a comfortable quiet. Every so often, Kate lifts the camera to capture an image, the click of her shutter barely audible over the twittering birds. Sun beats down on them and she scoops her hair up into a messy knot on the top of her head.

The sound of a zipper catches her attention and she turns to find Rick with their backpack hanging off one shoulder, his right hand rummaging around in an open pocket. He pulls out a tube of sunscreen and waves it at her, popping the top open with his thumb. Before she can even try to take it from him, he squeezes a dollop onto his index and middle fingers and rubs it across the newly exposed skin of her neck. He rubs the lotion into her skin, fingers dipping down below the collar of her t-shirt to reach every possible inch of vulnerability.

"There you go," Rick murmurs, snapping the cap closed and tucking the tube back into the bag. "No sunburn for you."

He almost walks right into her when she comes to an abrupt stop. Her name is half off his tongue when she spins and takes his lips in a hard kiss, one hand holding her camera out of the way and the other resting on the side of his neck.

"Thank you," Kate says when she pulls back, her eyelashes damp and heart galloping. She can almost hear the gears turning in his skull as he stares at her, eyebrows pulled together and head slightly cocked to one side. Shaking her own head, she steps back. "Come on, we're almost there."

Five minutes later, Kate leads them around a bend. She feels the exact moment he sees it, the way the energy between them shifts. Without turning around, Kate reaches back with one hand, her fingers stretched wide. Damp heat caresses her palm as he slides his fingers into the spaces she's made for him.

Kate moves toward the railing along the edge of the cliff, Rick following in her wake. Wood peels off the bottom rail when she rests her boot on it. Releasing his hand, she grips the top of the fence and hoists herself up. Rick's arm wraps around her waist, his free hand holding tight to the wooden post as Kate leans forward and lifts the camera to her eye, her upper body suspended in mid-air.

The cliff dips in underneath her and she can't even see the side as she leans forward to snap pictures of tree tops a hundred feet below, their green crown swaying gently in the breeze. She lets the lens lead her, taking shot after shot of the breathtaking view. A small waterfall roars on the opposite mountain face and she lines up the frame, catching half a dozen shots of the crystal clear water.

Lowering the camera, Kate straightens up, her back pressed to Rick's chest. She drops one foot off the railing and he moves with her, arm still wrapped securely around her waist even once both her feet are back on the ground. He lets out a shaky exhale, knuckles blanched almost as white as her shirt.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?" He asks, arm falling heavily against his sides as she steps forward and turns around to face him. "You're the one who was just -" He jerks his head toward the cliff. The nothingness below.

Powering off the camera, Kate lifts the strap from around her neck. Rick holds the backpack out to her and she slips the camera inside, tucking it into the protective pouch built into the interior wall. With steady hands, she sets the closed bag on the ground at their feet.

"I wasn't scared," she says, reaching up to slide the sunglasses off the bridge of his nose. She tucks one of the metal arms into the collar of his shirt, letting her hands linger on the broad plane of his chest. The toes of her boots kiss his and Kate looks up to meet his eyes, her heart a steady, even thump against her ribs. "I didn't need to be. I was with you."

"Kate -"

"This summer with you has been - I don't even know how to describe it." She shakes her head at herself. She's had this conversation a dozen time in her head but now, here, looking up into his eyes, she finds herself lost, all her careful practice forgotten. "This - us - has been the greatest adventure of my life, Rick. You make me happy. Excited. I wake up every morning exhilarated because I cannot wait to find out what another day with you will bring."

Sliding her hands down the length of his torso, Kate slips her arms around his waist, fingers laced over the small of his back. Rick mirrors her hold, his own hands heavy and warm against her spine. He stares down at her, eyes flicking back and forth between hers.

"I haven't felt this way in over a decade. No, that's -" It's not true. What she felt for Brent was real but this, what she feels for Rick - there is simply no comparison. "I've _never_ felt this way. You've given me so much," she continues. "You make me so - I feel -" Stumbling over her tongue, Kate closes her eyes and sighs. "Sorry, I'm not as good with words as you."

Nostrils flaring, she fills her lungs, lets the clean summer air clear out the uncertainty and loneliness of the past eleven years. Exhaling, she opens her eyes.

"I love you, Rick." Her voice comes out clear and strong, no trace of the terrified woman she used to be hidden in the words. "I'm in love with you."

Fingers stroke along the side of her neck and Kate tilts her head back, lips already parting. The gentleness in his kiss eases the last trace of anxiety seizing her lungs and Kate presses up onto her toes, hands fisting in the back of his t-shirt. She slips her tongue along the bow of his bottom lip and mewls when he chases her, her face cradled between his palms.

"I love you," she repeats, humming the words into his open mouth. "So much."

The hands on her cheeks move, sliding down until his fingers are wrapped around her biceps. Gentle pressure makes her step back and Kate sways on weak knees, her brow furrowing as she takes in his expression. Closing his eyes, Rick tilts his head back, face presented to the sun.

"Rick?"

A beat passes. Then another. And the anxiety flares back, stronger than before, the vise tightening around her gut as the sheen of summer sweat on her forehead turns to ice.

She'd thought he -

But okay. Maybe he doesn't. Not yet. That's okay too.

"It's okay if you don't -"

His chest shudders when he sighs. Rick looks down at her with damp blue eyes, a sadness there she's never seen before, and her heart lurches. The words stick in her throat and the cold band tightens around her chest, making her shiver in spite of the heat of the afternoon.

"Kate," he breathes, voice small and shaky, "there's something I have to tell you."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The old, worn out springs of the couch let out a symphony of squeaks when he drops down onto the cushions. A puff of dust floats up, dancing in the single beam of light pouring through the crack in the curtains. For a moment he imagines himself as that friend of Charlie Brown's, the one always surrounded by a roiling cloud of dirt. Pig-Pen. That's him. Surrounded by the detritus of a mess of his own making.

Rick takes a bite of his sandwich- the stale bread sloughing off crumbs and the packaged turkey a couple of days past its prime. It's disgusting but it's all he has. He may never eat another grilled cheese again.

Reaching for the remote, he presses the button to tell Netflix that yes he is, in fact, still watching _Gilmore Girls_ , leaving behind a mustardy thumb print. He wipes the face of the remote down the side of his pajama pants and tosses it toward the only clear space on the coffee table. It bounces off a half empty carton of day old lo mein and clatters to the floor.

The signal his brain sends to his torso and arms to bend over and pick it up gets lost somewhere around his shoulders. He jerks forward then falls back against the cushions with a shrug. Screw it. He's got at least an hour before that stupid screen will pop up again anyway. Light music fills the air and he zones out, brain a blissful fog of nothingness as he alternates between bites of his sandwich and cheese dusted chips.

Halfway through the sandwich, his lips, gummy and salt crusted, stick together and he swipes a day old cup off the side table, huffing out a curse when he finds it empty. He could get up for something but that would mean making the entire ten foot trek to the refrigerator. Fifteen if he rounds the couch rather than stepping on it. Instead, he crunches into another chip and watches the women on screen walk and talk, obviously empty coffee cups clutched in their hands.

He's supposed to be watching this with Kate.

They'd started it during the heat wave, the two of them mostly naked and stretched out across her bed. He'd snagged the projector he uses for lectures on a trip home for more clothes and they connected it to his laptop, throwing the blown up image of a quaint little Connecticut town and all its quirky residents onto a makeshift bed sheet screen taped to one of her brick walls. It had been the perfect way to while away the hours between naps and sex.

Now he's alone, using the fast talk and sly humor as a distraction from the self-loathing and depression. Not that it's working out very well for him. They're always there in the back of his mind, waiting for the perfect moment, that silent space between breaths, to rear up and slice him open anew.

The frazzled buzz of his front door startles him and Rick jerks up, sending his sandwich and chips sailing to the floor. He scrambles toward the door, stumbling over the hem of his pants, pulse thundering in his eardrums. Maybe - Dear God, please let it -

"Hello?" He breathes into the intercom, willing his voice to stay steady, a feat he knows is impossible but valiantly strives for all the same. The button sends a shock up his arm but he keeps his thumb on the pad, ready to let her in. To make it all right.

"So you are, in fact, alive. Fantastic."

"Mother?"

His heart sinks. Of course it isn't her. Real life bears no resemblance to romantic comedies. There will be no boomboxes, no fateful meetings at the top of the Empire State Building. She isn't going to show up at his apartment in a limo and carrying bouquet of roses.

This is it. This is life. His life. A disheveled and heartbroken man... and his mother.

"Yes, Richard. Now will you please let me in. I do not wish to have an entire conversation with you via intercom."

Rick hits the button to unlock the building's front door and flips the lock on his own. He makes his way back to the living room via the kitchen, grabbing two glasses with ice and the half-empty bottle of scotch off the counter.

Flopping back on the couch, Rick pours a few fingers worth into each of the glasses. His eyes flit around the piles of dirty clothes and containers of half eaten take-out but he doesn't even bother with a perfunctory attempt at cleaning the apartment. There's no point. The ice has just started to crackle when a dainty knock echoes from the front door.

"S'open," Rick calls, lifting the glass to his lips just as the main character on the television does the same with a cup of coffee. He sends her an imaginary cheers and knocks it back, already leaning forward to reach for the bottle before the burn has even hit his throat.

The hinges squeak as the door swings in. His mother, her fiery hair teased into a helmet and a brightly colored silk scarf looped around her neck, steps into the apartment, nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Good lord," Martha says, closing the door. She toes at the broken wheel of his still packed suitcase, a goopy river of hair product oozing from a rip on the front pocket where he'd snagged it on a broken nail at the train station. "It looks like a bomb went off in here. When was the last time you took out the garbage? I could smell it halfway down the hall."

"I'm really not in the mood for a lecture right now, Mother."

"Okay," she nods, picking her way across the minefield. "Then let's talk about the fact that I haven't seen or heard from you in two weeks."

"Mother -"

"No, Richard. Do not 'Mother' me." She perches on the edge of the cushion next to his, red leather handbag clutched in her lap and that same mildly disapproving look she used to wear when he was a kid and she'd caught him in one elaborate lie or another. "Clearly something has happened and by the state of you - " she waves a veiny hand in his general direction - "I'm fairly certain it has to do with the lovely Katherine. So, my son, spill."

Rick sighs and tips the glass toward his lips, holding the alcohol in his mouth until his gums burn. His eyes blur and he coughs, one hand pressed against his chest. The tears he's worked so hard to suppress are pulled to the surface by the gentle, familiar comfort of his mother's perfume.

"It's over," he confesses, the words he's only thought up to this point stumbling off his tongue like a newborn pony. "Kate and I are over."

Martha clucks at him sympathetically, her cold fingers patting at his forearm. "What happened, Richard? Things were going so well. You were going away on a trip together."

He nods, smiling in spite of himself at the memories of that first day with her at the inn. The trip up and the way she casually handed him the keys to the rental car, as though they hadn't spent the entirety of their relationship avoiding vehicles.

The restaurant she'd chosen for dinner just because she knew he'd always wanted to try wagyu beef. The dance they'd shared under the stars on the tiny balcony of their room, a flower from the inn's garden tucked behind her ear. The shy smile on her lips as she'd sashayed out of the bathroom in that shimmery negligee, her body tastefully exposed in all the most delicious ways.

The sense of absolute completion he'd felt waking up in that fluffy cloud of a bed with her body pressed against his, warm and welcoming. It had been amazing. Perfect.

Right up until he blew it.

"We went," he says, rattling the ice around the empty plastic walls of his cup. "She planned the whole thing. Picked out the inn and the train we took to get there and -" Rick shakes his head. "She said she wanted to take me somewhere special. And she did."

"This all sounds wonderful so far. Idyllic."

"It was."

"So -"

"She told me she loves me," Rick blurts. "That she's in love with me."

His mother remains silent at his side, her pink painted lips pulled into a straight line. Letting his head fall back on the sofa, Rick closes his eyes and sighs. Kate's face - soft green eyes and wide smile and that little beauty mark on her cheek that he loved to rub with his thumb when he kissed her - floats across the backs of his eyelids and the dam in his chest breaks, almost two week's worth of strangled emotion surging up his throat.

"She planned it. I know that now. She planned the whole trip around taking me up to this cliff to tell me that she loves me. Loved me." He scrubs a hand across his cheeks, a futile attempt at wiping away the rapidly falling tears. "She was standing there, her arms wrapped around my waist and her face so open and happy, and - I just couldn't do it anymore. I had to tell her."

"About her mother," Martha cuts in, a statement rather than a question.

Rick nods, the bread and scotch turning over and over in his stomach. He wraps an arm around his middle and swallows, willing the fresh moisture in his mouth away. "Yeah. I told her everything. About meeting Johanna at the coffee shop and the invite to her gallery show, how I've seen her a few times since then. Her face -" A tiny sob breaks in his throat and he swallows it back. "It was like I'd hit her. She scrambled away from me, refused to let me touch her. She shut down. I tried over and over again to apologize, to explain but -"

The hand on his arm moves to his forehead, thin fingers brushing the hair back from his face. Rick leans into the touch, lets his mother comfort him in a way she hasn't in more than two decades.

"Did you tell her that you love her?" She asks, her voice calm. Soothing.

He nods again. "Of course I did. I told her a dozen times."

"Before or after the rest of it?"

"After. I couldn't - I needed - I couldn't say those words to her with that lie between us. I didn't want to, I don't know, taint it."

"You wanted her to know that you were saying it because you felt it," Martha surmises in a wise and worldly tone, "not because you were trying to soften the blow for your confession."

He did feel it. Does. He loves Kate Beckett and has probably since the night he took her to see a bunch of high school kids perform _Hello, Dolly!_ and then let her 'teach' him how to dance in the park.

He's dated other women of course, some even seriously, but this, what he feels for Kate - this is _it_. This is the real thing. The kind of love that poems are written about and wars are fought over. The kind of love that Hollywood sells the idea of in all those sappy romances he'd taken her to see at the Angelika- pure and raw and all encompassing. The kind of love he always secretly longed for but had given up hope of ever finding. The kind of love he never really thought he deserved.

"I blew it, Mother. I love her and she's - she's gone. It's over."

Martha tsks at him, hand sweeping over his hair. "Did she say that?"

Stomach still churning, Rick replays the scene on the mountain again. She'd walked away, arms wrapped around herself and legs shaking as she stumbled back down the trail to the parking lot. Rick had followed along behind, trying so desperately to make her understand. The ride back to the inn had been silent, Kate folded into the passenger seat with tears welling in her eyes and all the color gone from her cheeks. She'd taken the first shuttle back to the train station, leaving him there with the rental car and the remaining pieces of his heart.

"She didn't need to," Rick breathes, head shaking. "It's - there's nothing I can do. It's over."

His mother's hand smooths down the back of his neck and out over his shoulder, her fingers pressing into his flesh. He leans into it, ribs stuttering as he tries to breathe around the thick knot of emotion lodged at the base of his throat. Two arms, thinner than he remembers but still impossibly strong, circle his shoulders as they begin to shake.

Tears roll down his cheeks, hot and fast, and his mother presses a kiss to the top of his head, little shushing sounds ruffling through his hair. A hiccoughing sob cracks on the back of his tongue and he sets it free, giving in to the grief and pain for the first time since Kate walked out of his life.

The television plays on in the background, a strummy guitar and quippy dialogue the soundtrack to his heartache.

"You're my son and I love you," his mother says eventually, once his tears have slowed to a trickle and his shoulders have stopped shaking, "so in this moment I will do you the courtesy of not saying I told you so."

Sitting up, Rick snorts through a stuffy nose. "Thanks, Mother."

She pats his cheek, her blue eyes soft with compassion. Rick tries to smile at her but can't quite make it, the corner of his lips turning to water halfway there. His mother smiles for him, wry yet still sympathetic.

"Darling, please don't take this the wrong way as it's said with the utmost love and compassion, but you stink. When was the last time you showered?"

Rick lets out a watery chuckle. Only his mother.

"I'm - I don't actually remember," he confesses, looking down. "I think I've been wearing these clothes for awhile."

"Yes, I can tell." She wags a finger at him, the silver and brass bangles on her wrist rattling. "The multiple types of food stains gave you away." Slipping off the couch with more grace than someone her age should have, Martha points toward his bedroom. "Why don't you go take a shower. Wash your hair, shave, put on fresh clothes. I'll clean up out here."

Nodding, Rick hauls himself up off the couch. He sways a little on his feet, the combination of scotch and an emotional breakdown leaving him lightheaded. Martha cups one of his elbows as he finds his bearings.

"You got it?"

He nods again and leans down, presses his dry, cracked lips to her cheek. "Thank you, Mother."

With a tut, she waves him toward the bedroom again. Rick shuffles away, the idea of a shower becoming more appealing with every step. The hot water calls to him and he reaches for the neck of his shirt before he even gets through the doorway, pulling up it up over his head with one hand.

"Richard?"

He turns back, shirt held in front of his chest.

"I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you did the right thing," his mother says, scotch bottle in one hand and an empty plate in the other. "She deserved the truth. You both deserve to have a chance at a real relationship without having the spectre of her mother hanging over you."

He shrugs. "Maybe but Kate doesn't seem to want that."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you, kiddo," Martha says, her clip on earrings brushing against her neck as she shakes her head. "Not if she loves you even half as much as I think she does."

His mother smiles at him and then turns away, her low heels clattering against the floor as she heads toward his filthy kitchen. The words of the upbeat theme song pour out of the speakers, bouncing off the walls and into his ears, and for the first time in almost two weeks he feels something that might be hope fluttering inside his chest.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

A fat bead of sweat clings to the tip of her nose, wobbling back and forth in the breeze of her slow, even breaths. The sharp edge of a rock stabs at the side of her elbow and long blades of grass tickle the bare backs of her biceps but Kate keeps her upper body frozen in a makeshift tripod. Her right index finger hovers over the shutter, pad barely brushing the crest of the plastic dome.

"Wait," she says, voice barely more than a whisper. The skitter of insect legs along the bare sole of her foot makes her toes curl. "Let it come to you."

Wind rustles the tree tops on the other side of the meadow and the muscles in her stomach clench. Her shoulders pull her forward, every inch of upper body tingling. It's coming. The top of one of the trees begins to shake, bright green leaves brushing up against one another, the entire trunk almost vibrating. All at once, the branches dip and then spring back up as a thousand screeching black birds catapult themselves into the fiery glow of the New York sunset.

The cacophony of flapping wings and squawking beaks drowns out the sound of the shutters closing. Kate takes snap after snap, the muscles in her arms and core burning with tension. She loosens her neck and rolls down, angling her lens up to catch the eye of the feathery storm.

Once the movement starts, her body won't let it stop, carrying her across the grass until she's flat on her back with the camera held aloft, her skirt rucked up around her thighs and a branch poking at her lower back. One last bird flies a lazy circle above her. She catches the edge of its wing as it glides, playing in the wide open expanse of sky.

The camera thumps against her sternum when she finally releases her arms, eyes still locked on the bird. Another volley of screeches pierces the air and, with one final dip, the it flaps its wings and soars off, chasing after the rest of its flock.

"Okay," Kate says, sitting up and folding her legs. Her skirt stretches tight around the twin points of her knees and she lets the camera come to rest in the hammock of fabric. "Show me what you got."

Sophie clambers up from the spot where Kate left her and trots over, her thumb already working the display buttons on the back of her camera. "I don't know," she mumbles, so focused on her shots that she stumbles over a tiny rise in the land. "I don't think I got anything worth keeping."

Kate swallows back the reactive sigh.

"Sophie, if we've learned anything over these lessons, it's that you are most definitely not the best judge of your own ability." She reaches one hand out and makes a gimme motion. "Take your thumb off the delete button before I break it."

Plopping down on the grass next to Kate, Sophie passes her the camera, the corners of her mouth turned down in doubt. "I'm telling you, Kate, there's nothing there. I'm never going to -"

Kate shushes her and rolls her thumb over the back arrow, taking the display back to the start of the memory card. With a slow, even pace, she advances through the shots, her fingers a little clumsy around the foreign camera. She stops on a particularly impressive shot, her eyes drawn to the way the off-center composition creates a sense of drama in the picture, like the best part of it might be just out of frame.

"See," Kate says, tapping on the screen with her finger. "This is what happens when you combine patience with talent."

Sophie immediately opens her mouth to protest but stops the moment Kate arches an eyebrow at her.

"Take this home," she instructs, holding the camera out to Sophie. "Don't do anything with it tonight. Don't do anything with it tomorrow either. Wait a few days. Give yourself some space from it. Then pull this picture -" she taps on the screen again - "up on your computer and look at it with fresh eyes." Kate grabs her own camera and stands, grass and leaves showering down around her feet as she shakes out her hair. "Do that and then try to come tell me you aren't good at this."

Sophie blushes, the camera cradled against her breast like an infant.

"Thanks, Kate."

"Why are you thanking me? You're the one who took it," she says, picking her way back across the grass.

The muscles in her chest twist with a jolt of momentary panic when she doesn't see the familiar strap of her canvas tote. She breathes through it, mentally shaking her head. Every damn time. Exhaling, Kate bends over and lifts the flap on her new bag, the poly-cotton blend too slick and stiff against her fingers. She snaps the lens cover on her camera and nestles it into the designated pocket.

"Yeah, but I never would have known how without your help," Sophie says, packing away her own camera. "Seriously, Kate. I cannot thank you enough for all this time you've spent with me. I feel like I've learned more from you in the past six weeks than I did in my entire time in school."

Kate lifts her shoulders in a shrug, swinging the new bag up and over her head. The strap cuts a diagonal line across her torso, the stiff side of the bag pressing against her hip, she fidgets with it, still searching for the elusive sweet spot of comfort. Her toes curl and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, knees bouncing as she tries in vain to find some sort of balance.

"I doubt I've really taught you that much," she demurs, pulling her sunglasses out of the side pocket of the bag and slipping them on, the dying sun still bright enough to make her squint, "but you know I'm always here to help."

Sophie falls into step beside her as they make their way out of the park, chattering nonstop. Kate bobs her head to the beat of the patter, a familiar low pitched hum picking up in the back of her mind, drowning out her own - everything.

"Kate?"

Dry fingertips light across her forearm and Kate jerks, the strap of her bag cutting into her neck. A hiss slithers off her tongue and Sophie squeaks out an apology.

"Sorry sorry sorry," she says as Kate waves her off and readjusts the black nylon. "I just wasn't sure if you heard me. You didn't answer and your face was doing that blank thing that scares me a little but -"

Kate forces out a laugh, the dryness of it harsh against her throat.

"What'd you ask?"

"I was just wondering when I could come by and use your darkroom to develop those black and whites I took at my cousin's wedding last weekend? I'm really anxious to see if I got anything good."

"You know you did," Kate assures her, "but the floors should be done by the middle of the week. Will your nerves last till then?"

Sophie giggles and all over again Kate finds herself struck by just how _young_ her new protegé actually is. Young and talented and so full of a pure, unfettered lightness that Kate cannot stop herself from being envious.

"I'll just take an extra dose of my anxiety medicine," Sophie says, fishing around in her own bag and coming back up with a fistful of loose paper. She plucks her bus pass from between two fingers and then stuffs the rest of the crinkling mass back through the gaping mouth of the zipper. "I still can't believe you're doing all that stripping and scrubbing and sealing yourself, Kate. Laurent is right, you really are amazing."

Kate bats away the well intentioned compliment with a wave of her hand. "Frugal," she corrects. "Why pay other people to do things I can manage on my own?"

Their strides slow as they approach the spot where their paths diverge, where the main artery of the sidewalk begins to sprout veiny trails of broken concrete and beaten down grass. Kate steps off onto the loose gravel that will take her to the other side of the park and a noisy subway ride home.

"You sure you don't want to come to this mixed media gallery showing?" Sophie asks, her chin dipping, bringing her bangs and the old veil of shyness falling over her smooth forehead. "I think you'd like it. The artist is doing some super inventive stuff with paper mache. She has this bust of Wonder Woman made out of the fliers for escort services that I hear is really great."

"While I'd love to see Wonder Whore," Kate says and Sophie giggles again, the apples of her cheeks pinking, "I'm gonna pass. Got some work to do." She pats the stiff side of the bag at her hip. "Plus," she adds with a wink, "I don't want to intrude on your date with Miles."

The simmering blush explodes over Sophie's round face, staining her red from the tips of her ears to the base of her throat. Kate swallows her reflexive laugh, the trapped air burning inside her lungs. Her heart gives a little stuttering protest and she exhales, hand already lifting to stave off the inevitable denial from Sophie.

"It's not - I'm not - We -"

"Your secret's safe with me," Kate promises. "Tell Miles I said hi. And that if he hurts you," Kate says, starting down the path and tossing the words casually over one shoulder, "I have enough chemicals in my apartment to dissolve his scrawny little body a dozen times over."

The high pitched tinkle of Sophie's laugh mixes with the crunch of the gravel under the hard soles of her new sandals as Kate walks away, one hand braced against the awkward sway of the bag at her side.

* * *

A series of muffled pings rises up from her hip as Kate ascends the steps from the subway half an hour later. She slips her hand into the bag and fishes blindly for her phone, a familiar voice inside her head reminding her that she'd be able to find it in less than two seconds if she just put it in the side pouch designed specifically for its safe and easy access. Kate shoves the unwelcome ghost of that smooth baritone out of her mind, thumb jabbing at the smudged glass screen.

Five missed calls. All from her father.

A little red bubble hovers over the voicemail indicator, a white number one glowing accusingly inside. Kate opens the app and fetches the message, her lungs opening for a deep, cleansing breath as she lifts the phone to her ear.

" _Katherine, this is your father."_

A chill spreads through her gut in spite of the heat of the late summer sun. Her father hasn't called her Katherine in - She can't even remember.

" _I'm identifying myself just in case you've completely forgotten the sound of my voice in the six weeks since you last heard it. Your mother -"_

Silence falls and Kate pulls the phone away, checks to make sure the message is still playing. It is.

" _She screwed up, Katie. Royally. No one is disputing that. But this has gone on long enough. It's time to make amends. We are your family, Katie. Your parents. And we love you. Please call when you get this."_

The catch in his voice makes her stumble, the toe of her sandal catching at a crack in the sidewalk. Her ankle rolls and she hisses, a deep, years-old pain shooting up through her thigh.

" _I miss you, bug. Please call. Love you."_

The message ends and Kate finds her thumb drifting to the call button. She presses it without thinking, without giving herself time to find a reason - an excuse - not to.

One ring and he picks up.

"Katie."

It's as much a question as it is a statement and the five year old Katie that hibernates deep inside her chest stirs to life, bringing with her an overwhelming need to feel the infinite safety and warmth that her father somehow stores in the space between his arms.

"Hey, Dad," she says and the steadiness in her voice surprises her. "How are you?"

The harsh rasp of his laugh abrades her eardrum. "How am I? That's how you start this conversation?"

"No good? Ok. How about - read any good books lately? Better?"

"Katherine," Jim says, the rigid anger from the first few seconds of his voicemail forming the spine of her name. "This isn't funny."

"I think I know that better than anyone, Dad."

"And yet here you are, trying to joke your way out of a serious conversation, just like when you were a little girl."

Kate rounds the corner onto her block. She pulls her keys out and clenches her fist around them, letting the sharp metal teeth gouge divots into her palm.

"I'm not a little girl," she reminds him. "And I'm not really in the mood for a lecture."

"This isn't a lecture," her dad sighs, the steel in his voice melting just as quickly as it was forged. "I just want to talk to you, Katie. I want _you_ to talk to _me_. The last conversation we had wasn't what I would term productive."

The hinges of her building's security door squeak when she pulls it open and Kate shivers, in spite of the wave of warm, stale air that crests over the threshold to caress her shins. Her stomach tightens into a rock and she presses a hand to her abdomen, willing the wall of muscle to relax as she pulls in a deep breath.

"No," she agrees, "it wasn't. But nothing has really changed since then."

"So that's it? You show up at our door in the middle of the night to scream at your mother and then storm out in the middle of her explanation -"

"It wasn't an explanation," Kate cuts in, her sandals slapping against the concrete stairs as she makes her way up the single flight to her apartment. "It was a _justification_. She was trying to justify her blatant manipulation of my life, just like she's been doing since I was nineteen. And I'm tired of it, Dad. I'm tired of her complete disregard of boundaries and her refusal to respect the decisions I make about my own damn life and how I want to live it."

"She's your mother," he reminds her as she unlocks the door to her apartment. "She only wants what's best for you."

The heavy wooden slab slides open in one smooth motion, the rollers gliding effortlessly along the new track she installed two weeks ago. The lingering scent of lemons tickles her nose and she has to squint against the way the sun glints off the freshly polished faces of her kitchen appliances.

"I know that," Kate concedes, dropping her bag on the wingback chair in the corner of her living room. She slides off her sandals and pads over to the counter, slipping onto the rounded seat of a barstool, her toes curling around the chrome bar stretched between its legs. "But I haven't needed her to make decisions about what is best for me in a long time. She doesn't seem to get that."

Jim sighs and she hears the creak of leather, imagines him rocking back and forth in that beat up old desk chair of his, the one her mom has tried - and failed - to talk him into getting rid of for as long as Kate can remember.

"She went about this the wrong way. There is no denying that. And trust me, she and I have had our share of words about the situation. But, Katie, it wasn't all bad, was it?"

"It was a manipulation, Dad. A lie. What could possibly be good about that?"

"But didn't the result of that manipulation, that lie, make you happy? Didn't it bring you Rick?"

Kate shrugs. "That doesn't matter. It's over."

"Really? Just like that?"

Her chin bobs once, a stiff little jerk that sends a spike of pain radiating down the tense muscles of her neck. "It's done. I'm - I'm over it. I've moved on."

"Bullshit," Jim says and Kate feels her eyes go wide. Her father rarely swears. "I saw you with him in the park that day. I saw the way you looked at him. That was real. You lo- ."

"It doesn't matter," she repeats, a low-pitched buzzing starting up at the base of her skull as she cuts him off. "He's gone and I'm getting on with my life."

"So you're just going to bury your head - and your feelings - in the sand and pretend it never happened?"

"That's not what I'm doing."

Jim lets out that rasping laugh again. "You just keep telling yourself that."

"Look, Dad," she says, pushing off the stool and walking into the kitchen. "I have work to do. I'll -" She swallows, wincing at the dryness in her throat. "I will call Mom eventually. In my own time."

"You will?" Jim asks, his disbelief of her statement more than obvious.

"I will," she assures him. "It's going to take some time but I'll get there."

"I suppose I can't really ask for more than that," her dad sighs. "Can I?"

"Well, you could, but it wouldn't do you any good."

"That's my, bug," Jim chuckles. "Stubborn as ever."

"All part of my charm," Kate says, reaching up to pull a coffee mug out of the cabinet. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Katie."

The line goes dead and Kate looks at her reflection in the dark screen for a moment before putting the phone down on the counter. Moving on autopilot, she slides her cup under the nozzle of her new Keurig and pops one of the refillable pods into the chamber. Her thumb hovers over the start button for a moment and she sighs.

No.

Bending over, Kate pulls open the cabinet door under her sink. She moves her collection of cleaning supplies to the side, the half empty bottle of Pine-Sol tipping over and rolling out onto the kitchen floor. Kate ignores it, her right hand thrust into the dark depths of the space, seeking. Her fingers bump into hard plastic and she feels a shudder run down her spine.

The carafe rattles as she pulls the coffee pot out, and she tries to convince herself that it's not because her hands are shaking. Carefully, Kate puts the machine - _his_ machine - on the counter and plugs it in, her movements slow and deliberate. She starts the ritual the way he always did, closing her eyes as she holds the open bag of ground beans under her nose and inhaling deeply.

The first tears sting at her eyes as she holds the pot under the faucet, her forearm flexing against the slowly increasing weight. They flow over her cheeks in earnest by the time the reservoir runs dry, her stuttering breath a perfect counterpoint to the hiss and gurgle of the final splash into the pot. She puts back the mug she pulled down and reaches for another, the one with the black handle and the chip at the base.

Kate sits down on the freshly scrubbed and polished floor of her kitchen, the mug of coffee cradled against her heaving chest, and sobs.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	21. Chapter 21

Rick shucks off his sport coat the moment he exits the rotating glass door into the flow of pedestrian traffic. He fumbles with the buttons at his collar and wrists as he attempts to free himself from the tiny pearled discs. A hot, stiff breeze ruffles the damp hair at the base of his skull and he rolls his shoulders.

Rick tucks the bulk of his coat into the crook of his elbow and scopes out the sidewalk ahead, seeking respite from the heat. Somewhere he can stop, get his shit together after that meeting. Half a block up, he sees it.

Barnes and Noble.

His knees give a little and then he's swerving toward the inside of the sidewalk. Sucking in his stomach, he squeezes past a teenage couple fused at the lips. A crack in the sidewalk catches the toe of his loafer and Rick bounces off the plate glass window of a pâtisserie, the little cakes in the window slowly melting in the afternoon heat.

Ten paces later, his fingers close around the worn brass pull bar of the bookstore's door. A rush of cool air blows the hair off his forehead and he steps inside, his spine a live wire sending random sparks out into the jelly that has passed for his muscles ever since he got the call days before.

The toasted marshmallow scent of steamed milk wafts over him and Rick veers to the right, hand already dipping into his pocket. Coffee is the last thing he needs but the acrid scent of the wet grounds sets off a Pavlovian response.

He waits for his drink at the end of the counter, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. An old man glares at him over the top of the most recent issue of _Popular Mechanics,_ his five remaining hairs combed carefully across the top of his shiny head. Rick shoves his hands into his pocket and fights the urge to reach up and pat his own hair. His fingers brush against the hard plastic case of his cell and the glowing ball of energy in his chest flickers out.

He pulls the phone out, thumb swiping at the glass. The screen unlocks and he feels the familiar twist of pain in his gut at the sight of the wallpaper, a blurry shot of their laughing faces she'd accidentally taken one afternoon while they were wrestling over the phone she'd stolen from his hands, convinced he was cheating at Words with Friends.

If he were less of a masochist - _less in love_ \- he'd have changed it. But he can't. Changing it would mean -

Something he's not ready for.

Not yet.

He presses the green phone icon just as the barista calls his name, holding out a plastic cup with a painfully crafted air of disgust. Rick takes it from his thin fingers, the nails coated with artfully chipped black lacquer, and nods, thumb scrolling down the list of his contacts. He pauses in the middle of the alphabet, the pad of his thumb hovering over the touch sensitive glass. Temptation tingles in up his spine, a high pitched voice in the back of his mind telling him to do it. To reach out. That this time won't be like the half a dozen others. That she'll actually answer.

Rick flicks at the screen, moves himself out of the danger zone. Needing to share this with someone who loves him - he scrolls down to the M's and moves the phone to his ear. The first cool sip of his latte coats the his throat with a sweet bitterness just as the line clicks and his mother's voice tinkles in his ear.

"Richard! How did it go, my darling?"

His adam's apple spasms and he coughs, coffee gurgling in his throat. "You remembered?"

"Of course, I remembered," Martha clucks and even through the rasp of her laugh he can hear the faintest hint of hurt. "The only fruit of my loins -"

"I've asked you not to call me that."

"- has a meeting with a literary agent and you expect me not to remember? Really, Richard. I think I deserve more credit than that."

Guilt arcs across his ribs. For all of her faults, his mother truly does deserve more credit than he gives her. Especially after the last month.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he says, a sincerity in his tone that neither of them is used to. "Of course you remembered. It went well."

"How well?"

"Really well."

"Richard."

The aisle he's been ambling down opens into a small seating area. Rick plops down into one of the chairs, eyes fixed on the rows of pristine spines of New Arrivals.

"She said that I have the potential to be the next John le Carré," he says, the quote from his new agent whistling through his dry lips. His tongue flicks out and he swallows, reminds himself to breathe. "With some work, of course. She's going to represent me."

The buzz of the open line fills his ear.

"Mother?"

"I'm here," she says, the light waver in her voice making the knot in his gut pull tighter. "Just fighting the urge to say I told you so."

"I'll allow it this one time," Rick chuckles, his own voice a little watery.

"I think," Martha hums in a voice more like her own and his mind supplies an image of her, one red tipped fingernail tapping theatrically at her chin. "I'll save that free pass for when you call to tell me you've finally reached out to - "

"Mother," he warns, the plastic coffee cup crinkling as his fingers clench. "Don't."

"I will," his mother rebuts and the picture his mind morphs, her ice blue eyes narrowing to shrewd slashes, the lines around her mouth deepening into the trenches she likes to blame on over forty years of simply being his mother. "I will, Richard, because you are my child and you're miserable. Don't even bother trying to deny it."

He won't. It wouldn't make a difference anyway. Not when they both know she's right.

"Wouldn't you rather be calling the woman you love with this wonderful news? Speeding your way into her arms - or, hell, her bed -"

"Mother. Stop. I beg you."

" - instead of sitting and wallowing in a -" Martha pauses. "Where are you wallowing?"

"I'm not wallowing," Rick argues, pushing himself up from the chair, reverie broken. "I'm absorbing."

"Call it what you like, darling. It all boils down to the same point - you need to contact Katherine. Whether it's to reconcile or give yourself closure-" his stomach rolls at the mere thought - "is not my place to say. But either way, Richard, you owe it to yourself to try. You owe it to her."

Sweat from the cup trickles down his wrist. "She doesn't want anything from me, Mother. Least of all contact. I - I hurt her."

"Yes. But you also love her."

"That doesn't excuse it."

"Maybe not, but love has to count for something. Otherwise, what's the point?"

Fingertips glance across the back of his elbow, the all too familiar greeting incinerating any possible response. Hope stirs inside his chest and his heart goes along for the ride. Rick turns, eyes scanning, and the hope dies just as quickly as it was born.

"I'll call you back later," Rick says, a sick sort of pride rising in his chest at the casual spill of the words over his tongue. "Yes, we'll pick up a bottle to celebrate. G'bye, Mother." He slips his phone into the breast pocket of his shirt and forces his lips into something akin to a smile. "Stacy."

The petite blonde beams, her perfect white teeth sparkling even in the fluorescent bookstore lighting. "I thought that was you in line at the cafe earlier," she says, adjusting the small stack of books in her arms. "I'm sorry I interrupted your phone call. I just wanted to say hi." Three fingers lift to wave at him. "Hi."

An involuntary chuckle rattles loose from his lungs. "Hi," Rick parrots, returning her mini salute. "How've you been?"

"Good," Stacy giggles, a pink stain flaring under the smattering of freckles on her cheeks. "Great, actually."

He can't help but smile in the presence of her obvious joy. "Been a good summer?"

The blush darkens, long fingers of it creeping down her neck and curling around the bony knobs of her collar bones. "A really good summer," Stacy says, a wistful lilt making the words dance through the air between them. "I can't believe it's almost over."

"That good, huh?"

She nods. "Yep. What about you?"

"Oh, I can't complain," Rick shrugs, the empty sleeves of his sports coat brushing against his thighs. "And even if I did -"

"It wouldn't change anything," Stacy chuckles, finishing off the cliche favored by one of their more curmudgeonly colleagues. "Guess we better get all our complaining out before we head back next week, huh?"

"Doesn't really seem like you have much to complain about these days." The ice in his otherwise empty cup rattles as he points a finger at her grinning face. "At least not judging by that smile."

"Oh, God, I've turned into one of _those_ people," Stacy sighs. "I swore I wouldn't but I just can't help it. He just - ugh."

"Oh, so there's a _he_ now is there?" He keeps his tone playful, not wanting to chance any misunderstanding regarding his feelings. "Do tell."

Her eyes light up even as she attempts to demure. "You don't want to hear about that."

"Sure I do," Rick says, ignoring the twist behind his ribs. "Dish."

"Well, I signed up for a couple of dating sites after -" she motions between them and Rick acknowledges the allusion to their disastrous date with a nod. Their eyes meet briefly and Stacy's chin returns his dip. "Anyway, I signed up for a few sites and-"

"Were swept off your feet by a handsome stranger?"

Stacy barks out a laugh. "It was more like I was buried under a mountain of creeps. You know, lots of weird messages from men asking to see my feet or wanting to know the size and color of things no one should ever want to know the size and color of."

"Seriously?"

She nods. "Oh yeah. Internet dating is - Well, Mark likes to say that www really stands for Wild Wild West."

"Oh, _Mark_ says that, does he?" Rick draws out the other man's name, turning it into a sing song as his eyebrows wiggle. "I assume that you found him planting a flag at the peak of Mount Creep then?"

"Actually," a deep, slow voice floats over Rick's shoulder, "she was on a date with another man when we met."

A body brushes past his. Mark - tall, blonde and wiry - steps up next to Stacy, a long, thin arm lifting to drape casually over her shoulders. His right hand cuts through the space between them, fingers stretched out. Rick wipes his palm, damp from the coffee, on his outer thigh before reaching out to shake.

"Rick Rodgers," he says and the other man nods.

"Mark Clay."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. I've heard stories about your less than orthodox classroom practices from this one," Mark squeezes Stacy's shoulder and she melts further into his side. "It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Whatever she's told you is lies," Rick says. "Except the flattering parts. Those are all true." Mark and Stacy laugh at his lame joke, an intimate glance passing between them. "So, tell me more about how you stole Stacy right under nose of some poor schmuck?"

"I didn't steal her," Mark says, his eyes soft as he looks down at the top of Stacy's head. "She graciously allowed me to sit at the bar with her after her date turned out to be -"

"An asshole," Stacy supplies when he hesitates. Mark chuckles and nods, his free hand reaching over to relieve her of her stack of books. She smiles up at him before continuing. "I met the guy on OKCupid and he seemed great. When we met for a drink, I quickly found out he was not. Mark overheard me trying to extricate myself and stepped in for the rescue when the guy wouldn't take no for an answer."

"All I did was ask if she wanted another glass of wine," Mark shrugs.

"And that worked on the asshole?"

"Well," Stacy chuckles, looking up at Mark again, her eyes dancing with an impish light, "he asked me right after I'd had a complete Dynasty moment and thrown my last glass in the guy's face."

Rick barks out a laugh and two old ladies at the other end of the aisle turn to glare at him. "I'd pay good money to see that."

"It _was_ pretty great," Mark agrees. "She really lobbed it at him. So I bought her a new drink and we ended up-"

"Talking until the bartender kicked us out," Stacey finishes, her left arm coming up to wrap around Mark's thin waist. "We've been pretty much together since."

"A real life meet cute," Rick says, forcing the words around the growing lump in his throat. He swallows, the acidic taste of envy burning the back of his tongue.. "That's great, you guys."

Mark lifts his hand from Stacy's shoulder and fingers the tip of her ponytail, so much love and gratitude in the gesture that Rick has to avert his eyes. "Yeah," he agrees, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. "It is."

A silence fills the space between them, the empty space next to Rick heavy and cold.

"Well," Stacy says after another beat, fingertips feathering at Mark's waist, "We should get going if we're going to make that dinner with your brother." She looks toward Rick, head tilted and a smile curling the corners of her mouth. "I'll see you at Marlowe in a couple of weeks?"

"Of course," Rick nods. "It was nice to meet you," he says to Mark, not bothering to extend his hand again. Mark nods and adjusts the books in his arm, hiking the stack closer to his body.

"Same to you," he says, body already twisting to guide Stacy back up the aisle.

"See ya, Rick," Stacy says, looking back at him over her shoulder, free hand lifted in a wave that Rick instinctively mirrors. "Hope the rest of your break is enjoyable."

Rick smiles and wiggles his fingers. He watches them walk down the aisle, hand still suspended in the air. His arm drops once they round the corner toward the registers, his gut knotted in a perfect bow.

Everything he's spent the past six weeks trying to work through rushes over him at once. The pain, the regret. The immense need. For her. For them. For the way he felt every time she said his name or looked into his eyes. His heart lurches and before his brain can kick in and overrule, Rick pulls his cell back out of his pocket, thumb already unlocking the screen.

The contacts app opens and then the screen flashes black, the phone buzzing against his palm. He doesn't even have time to check the number before his thumb, still moving to scroll, hits the green answer button. He winces but juggles the phone to his ear after a couple seconds of dead air.

"Hello?"

"Is this Rick Rodgers?"

The voice sounds almost familiar and Rick answers on instinct. "Yes, this is he."

"Rick," the man continues, his tone soft and somehow comforting. "This is Jim Beckett. We need to talk."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._

 _There are two chapters remaining in this story. Both are completely written and are currently being edited. The next chapter will be posted in two days with the epilogue coming two days following that. Thank you all so very much for your patience as Alex and I have worked to balance our personal lives with finishing this story. We certainly hope the wait will prove to be worth it._


	22. Chapter 22

Kate stands at the edge of the crosswalk. The little electronic man strolls in place in his box on the other side of the road. Pedestrians amble past in both directions but invisible roots have sprung out of the sidewalk at Kate's feet, winding up around her ankles and holding her fast to the curb. The stick man flickers from white to orange and a countdown clock appears under the blunt ends of his digital legs. His lazy pace picks up as the numbers decrease, orange legs blinking faster and faster until he- inevitably - loses the race.

A large, red STOP flashes up on the screen and Kate watches a few stragglers hussle up over the curb. The cars roll forward and she releases her breath. Her fingernails stab at her palms and she curses herself for letting her father talk her into this.

The traffic stutters past, brakes squeaking as the line of cars inches through the intersection. Her eyes pick out a blue Prius half a block up and she tracks its jolting trip toward the intersection. Kate can just make out the annoyed look on the driver's bearded face when her cell rings. She fishes the phone out of the bag at her hip and slides her thumb across the glass.

"Hey, Dad."

"Katie, where are you?" A sharp edge of agitation rims the question. "You're almost half an hour late."

"I know," Kate says. "I'm sorry. My train was running behind." And it was. Not a full half hour, but her father doesn't need to know that. "I'm at the crosswalk now. I'll be there in 5 minutes."

"Okay," Jim says. "Just try to hurry."

Kate hangs up without saying anything else. The stick man reappears and Kate steps off the curb, the tip of her index finger grazing the hood of the Prius as she walks past. She doesn't allow herself to pause as she walks up the block, heart slamming hard against her ribs with each step.

The door of the gallery opens with a barely audible swish and all the muscles in her chest vibrate as she steps inside.

"Katie," her dad says when she rounds the corner into the main room. "You're here."

Johanna stands at his side, hands gripping one another across her midsection, and Kate's heart gives a little stutter. Almost seven weeks. For all their bickering and sniping, seven weeks is by far the longest she's ever gone without seeing or speaking to her mother. Anger still simmers low in her gut but it's tempered, the raw edges smoothed by time and distance.

"Sorry I'm late," Kate says, eyes darting back and forth between her parents. "My train was running behind."

"You're here now," Jim says, the arm around his wife's shoulder tightening. Johanna twists her upper body into him in a half hug and Jim presses a soft kiss to her temple. Kate watches her mother's eyelids flutter and feels a strange stab of jealousy right in the center of her chest. "I'll leave you two to talk," he says, eyes cutting to Kate as he pulls back. "I'll be in Laurent's office if you need me, okay?"

Kate and her mother both nod. Jim gives Johanna's shoulder one last comforting squeeze and then walks away, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his khakis.

"He's not limping," Kate observes, watching her father's even stride as he rounds a corner and heads down the short hallway to Laurent's office.

"The diet and physical therapy have been helping," Johanna says. "He still has to have the surgery but the doctor says progress now means a shorter recovery time after."

"That's great."

The hem of Kate's skirt ripples around her ankles as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her eyes skim around the walls of the gallery. In two days, the show will close. The art will be packed away, the padded crates containing her photographs heading off to an Upper West Side penthouse.

Johanna clears her throat and Kate jumps.

"Your father didn't call this meeting for us to discuss him, delightful as he may be. Come on, Kate," she says, sweeping a hand toward one of the simple wooden benches in the middle of the room. "Let's talk."

Kate sits on the opposite end of the hard wooden seat from her mother, the gap speaking volumes in the silence.

"You called me Kate," she says, eyes flickering between the floor and the knot of her fingers in her lap.

"I did." Johanna nods in Kate's peripheral vision. "It's what you want to be called, isn't it?"

"Since when are you concerned with what _I_ want?"

The words are out before she has the chance to stop them. Her mother sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth and Kate turns toward her, a hand lifting up.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"No." Johanna shakes her head, her hair more grey than Kate remembers. "It wasn't. You have every right to be upset with me. But I hope that you'll be receptive to hearing me out."

"Mom -"

"From the moment you were born," Johanna continues, her mouth softening the way it always does when she talks about Kate as a child, "the thing I looked forward to most was you growing up. All the other moms I knew complained about their kids growing up too fast but not me." The lines around her eyes crinkle as she smiles. "I couldn't wait for you to become your own person. To watch you blossom into a woman and have you share your hopes and dreams with me. I wanted to be a guide for you, to help you achieve anything you set your mind to."

"You were," Kate says, some instinctual need to reassure her mother overruling the residual anger. "You did. I know you may not have agreed with a lot of my decisions, Mom, but I'm the person I am because of you."

Johanna shakes her head, her hazel eyes - Kate's eyes - turning misty. "No. You are the person you are because of _you_. And probably in spite of me." Her hand slides across the bench and Kate meets her in the middle, fingers slipping around to grip her mother's palm like she did as a little girl. "I know I pushed you, Kate. I know that I tried to tell you how to live your life and what was best for you. And I'm sorry for that."

The ache in Kate's chest, the one that has been her constant companion for a month and a half, flares, her mother's soft and heartfelt apology shooting straight for the dark center of it. "You don't have to - "

"No, I do." Johanna squeezes her palm. "But I also need to explain. I love being your mother. Not _a_ mother," she says, eyes flicking back and forth between Kate's, " _Your_ mother. I've never told you this, but before I met and fell in love with your father, I wasn't ever entirely sure I wanted children."

Kate's neck jerks a little at that, taking her head along for the ride. "Really? That's kinda hard to believe. You're -"

"An expert level medler?" Johanna halfheartedly jokes, one eyebrow lifting to only a quarter of its usual height.

"No," Kate says, a light chuckle sneaking up her throat and bouncing the word off the end of her tongue. Johanna's eyebrow finishes the trip up. "Well, yes, but - You're good at it. Being a mom. Even when I made choices you didn't like, you were always a good mom."

A light blush sweeps over Johanna's cheeks. "It means a lot to hear you say that -"

"I mean it," Kate says, her ankle popping as she pushes herself just a little closer on the bench. "You're a good mother, no matter what has happened between us."

"Thank you, Kate." The words come out a little tangled up and Johanna clears her throat. "I tried. From the moment we found out I was pregnant, I've always tried to be the best mother I could for you." Her gaze darts away and her free hand comes up to swipe an errant tear from her cheek. "I know I failed in a lot of ways, that I tried to push you in the direction I thought was best without fully taking your feelings into consideration. I'm not making any excuses for myself but I hope that you can try to understand where that was coming from."

Kate's chest pulls tight as her mother twists at the waist, pulling one slack covered leg up onto the polished pine seat to face her fully. The look on her face is one Kate doesn't recall ever seeing before and her lungs start to burn as she tries to force air through her suddenly constricted throat.

"All your life, I dreamed of your future. Who you'd be, what you'd do, who you'd marry. Whether or not you'd have children of your own some day. The possibilities for it all - for you - were endless. And then - " Johanna's voice catches and she swallows. "Then you almost died."

A heavy, mournful silence lands in the space between them. They've never really talked about the accident before. Not outside of the effect it had on Kate's mental health. She was drowning after and her parents got her help. But, for the first time really, she wonders if they helped themselves.

"Even now, I don't have the words to explain what it was like to get that phone call. To hear a complete stranger tell me that my child - my _baby_ \- had been in a accident so severe that she was being airlifted to a hospital. My heart stopped," Johanna breathes, fat tears rolling over her cheeks in earnest. "It stopped and didn't start again until you woke up from that coma. If you hadn't, If you had -" her shoulders shudder, free hand lifting to circle in the air, the gesture completing the words she can't bring herself to say - "I would have just laid myself down on the floor of that hospital room and died too."

Kate shakes her head on instinct, the idea of a world without her mother in it too much to even consider. "No," she argues in a voice barely more than a whisper. "You have Dad. You'd have been okay."

"Oh, Katie," her mother says, the faintest hint of a wry smile flirting along the corner of her mouth, and Kate's stomach dips at the old familiar sound of the nickname she pretends to hate. "No. I wouldn't have. I love your father deeply but you -" Johanna sighs, her watery eyes shining in the afternoon sunlight. "You're _part_ of me. I made this." She squeezes the hand now clasped between both her own. "I carried you inside my body and when you were born - You've heard the old cliche about how mothers live with their hearts walking around outside their bodies? It's true. At least for me. I fell completely in love with you. And maybe, you're right," Johanna concedes, chin dipping. "Maybe I wouldn't have died. But it would have felt like I did."

"I'm sorry."

Her mother's head tilts to one side, eyebrows meeting in confusion. "For what?"

"For making you worry," Kate says, one shoulder lifting in a shrug.

"I'm your mother. Worrying comes with the job."

"Maybe," Kate says, her turn to concede a point. "But I made it worse. I took risks and made dumb choices and you - You were only trying to protect me. I know that now. So," she shrugs again, "I'm sorry."

One of Johanna's hands lifts to cup Kate's cheek. "You never have to apologize to me for being who you are, Katie. Your soul longs for adventure. After years of fighting and trying to change it, I finally understand. I'm always going to worry and want to protect you but I promise you," Johanna says, one thumb swiping at the wet patch under Kate's right eye, "I am done trying to change you. I'm sorry that I ever did."

"It's okay," Kate mumbles.

"It's not." Johanna's hand falls away from Kate's cheek, landing in ther lap with a dull thud. "After the accident, I made a lot of mistakes. You had come so very close to dying, to not having any of the beautiful experiences I'd imagined for you, and I became consumed by that. I started trying to push those things on you because I was scared, Katie. I still am."

Johanna stands, her arms wrapping around her middle as she starts to slowly pace back and forth in front of the bench. Kate watches her, the pounding of her heart deepening the decade old spiderweb of fissures on its surface.

"I never knew how to process the fear," her mother confesses, shoulders rolled forward and chin sagging toward her chest. "Instead of dealing with it, I tried to overpower it. I thought that if I could see you settled in life, see you stable and happy in the ways I had imagined for all those years, that it would go away. That I would finally stop waking up with my heart in my throat, convinced you were dead. So I tried to control your life in order to control the fear."

"I wish we could have talked about all of this a long time ago," Kate says around the thickness in her throat.

"So do I. But I honestly didn't realize all of this until that night you showed up at the apartment. After you left, your father and I sat down and had a long talk about everything. He really made me understand how I had damaged my relationship with you and that I needed to find a way - a _healthy_ way - to deal with everything. We made a few phone calls and I've been seeing a therapist once a week for the past month. It's helped. A lot more than I expected it to."

Johanna stops pacing and leans up against one of the decorative columns, her red rimmed eyes fixed on Kate's. "But it is important that you know I'm not making excuses for the things I've done. I know that no amount of apologies or explanations can erase the strain I put on our relationship or the hurt I caused you. I'm telling you this now because being honest with you is the only way we can start to rebuild."

"You really have been going to therapy," Kate says in a broken crackle that might be a laugh.

Her mother gives her a soft smile - the same one she used to wear when she she'd come into Kate's room in the middle of the night, her voice calm and soothing as she tried to reassure her only child that the monster under her bed was nothing more than her imagination - and the warmth of it seeps into Kate's chest.

"Amazing, huh?"

Kate pushes herself up off the bench, her legs steadier than she expected them to be. She pulls her mother into a hug, their cheeks pressed together. Johanna wraps her arms around Kate's waist and squeezes, chest hitching a little as she exhales.

"We're going to be okay," Kate tells her, smoothing a hand between her shoulderblades.

"I hope so," Johanna sighs.

"We will be." Kate smudges a kiss against her mother's cheek and leans back to look at her. "We always were going to be. This is just going to get us there faster."

"I love you, Katie-bug."

"I love you too." Kate steps back and grabs her bag. She loops the strap over her head and straightens her skirt, pulling herself back together. Her throat aches with emotion and she swallows. "Do you want to go grab some lunch? We can talk more."

"Actually, I was hoping that you might be willing to walk me through your show," Johanna says, fingers swiping at the last remnants of salt on her cheeks, "before it's over."

"You want to see it?"

"Of course I do." Johanna reaches out and snags one of Kate's hands. "I know I haven't made it clear before so let me do that now - I am proud of you and the work you do, Katie. So very, very proud."

Tears well in Kate's eyes again and she blinks hard. "Come on."

Gripping her mother's hand, she rotates on one heel. Freestanding walls form a honeycomb pattern around the edges of the main room and Kate walks them toward the section Laurent had declared perfect for her work before she'd even given him a single picture to display.

The knot of her stomach tightens with each step, her hold on Johanna's hand slackening. Heat spreads across her back and Kate stops five feet away from the first wall. Her mother glides past, her greying hair shining like silver in the afternoon sun.

"This is amazing," Johanna says, pointing at the single print hanging in the middle of the first wall, the black frame popping against the pure white. "It makes me so happy for some reason. I can't stop smiling."

Kate jerks forward on coltish legs. She stares at the photo, the joy on the little boy's face as he zips down a slide, two chubby little arms lifted in victory. It's not supposed to be there. Not now. She'd brought in a group of new canvases to rotate in before - But she told Laurent not to put them up.

Of course, he didn't listen. She was a fool to expect that the stubborn old man would.

"Katie?" Johanna reaches toward her again, her fingers warm and smooth against the gooseflesh on Kate's forearm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little -" Kate shakes her head. "This one is new," she explains, one fingertip tracing the pointed corner of the framed print, "I wasn't expecting to see it."

"Well I'm glad it's here," her mother says. "It's lovely. Can you tell me about it?"

She swallows hard. The words are like a ball of warm taffy in her throat. They stick to the corners of her mouth, her tongue, as she tries to force them out. "He was scared. He didn't want to go down. He was so scared of what would happen when he let go. But once he finally did -"

"He was so happy that he begged to slide again and again." Johanna finishes, her eyes glinting in a knowing, motherly look Kate recognizes so well.

The corners of Kate's mouth pull up in response to her mother's warm smile as her gaze drifts down the wall of photographs. It still fills her with awe that she's capable of creating something others see as art. Her art. Her heart on a piece of paper, for all the world to see.

A pair of familiar, sky blue eyes stare out from halfway down and her feet move forward of their own accord, her heart thudding in her chest. Seven weeks and she still can't escape that feeling. Can't turn off the way just looking at him makes her chest pull tight and knees turn to jelly.

Shadows fall across his face in the photograph, highlight the deep set of his eyes and the way his nose slopes down over his unsmiling lips. A plain grey t-shirt stretches across the breadth of his shoulders, the cotton worn and pilled and she can't stop the rise of her hand. Her fingers glance across the glossy print, brushing the deep furrow of concentration between his brows. She remembers the morning she took it, her finger already pressing down on the shutter when she softly called his name from the other side of her couch, pulled him out of the scene he'd been grumbling at on his laptop for most of the morning.

Kate stares at the wall, eyes flicking around to the smaller frames and canvases Laurent arranged there. Rick's face in profile, lit by the glow of his laptop. Rick's smile as her lips press against a cheek covered in three day old stubble. Rick's hand, wide and soft, curled around her bare thigh, the faded end of her decade old surgery scar barely visible in the the shadow of his thumb. Composition, depth of field, tone - each picture different from the last. Each one unique.

Except they're not.

Every single one makes her heart twist in exactly the same way. Makes her want to wrap herself up in the oversized black dress shirt she stuffed into the bottom drawer of her dresser seven weeks ago and press the collar against her nose, try to breathe in whatever might be left of him.

Her mother approaches on quiet feet. Kate looks over, meets her eyes long enough to ease the trepidation creasing the corners. Johanna's chin dips, shoulders lowering as the tension drains away. Kate lets out a long, slow breath and the question rises up on a wave.

"Why did you pick him?"

A mirroring exhale washes over her left shoulder. "I wish I could give you some profound answer to that, Katie, but honestly?" She sees her mother shrug one shoulder in her periphery. "He was handsome and a little sad and I thought he could make you smile."

Kate nods, eyes drifting again to the picture of the two of them. It's off center and a little blurry but there's no mistaking the upward curl of her lips as she presses them against his cheek.

"He did."

"Maybe you're not ready to talk about it with me," Johanna hedges, her voice low as she carefully picks out each word, "and I understand if you're not but -"

She steps forward, a hand sweeping toward the wall of Rick that Kate cannot seem to tear her gaze away from.

"Anyone can look at this and see what he means to you. How much you love him." The sweep flows into a preemptive gesture of supplication. "And I promise I'm not going to push you or try to -" She sighs again, looking back toward the wall. "I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. And you had that with Rick. Don't lose it because of me."

"It's not - It wasn't you. Not entirely," Kate admits, her stomach clenching as the realization hits her for the first time. "Maybe not even mostly. I -"

Her quads quiver as she steps back, eyes still fixed on the arrangement of canvases and frames. The back of her knees hit a bench, the one she sat on for hours the night of the opening, the night she met Rick, and she drops down, her skirt fluttering around her ankles.

"I was scared too," Kate confesses. "After the accident. I woke up and my entire world had tilted upside down. Brent was dead and I was broken."

"Katie," Johanna tsks, sitting down next to her on the bench. "You aren't broken."

"Maybe not now." Kate says, accepting the warm hand her mother lays over her forearm. "But I was for a long time. You and Dad saw it. You made me get help. And that was good. I learned how to cope with a lot of the things I was feeling. Depression, guilt, anxiety." A harsh sigh rattles her ribs. "But the fear never went away. Not completely. Not until Rick."

Johanna's thumb makes a small circle on Kate's forearm. She doesn't speak, doesn't try to console or advise. A warm spring of gratitude wells up in Kate's chest and she leans toward her mother, lets Johanna's shoulder bear some of her weight.

"I'd been so scared for so long but he was the first - the only - person to make me feel like -" Kate pauses, eyes fluttering closed as her throat works to pull up the right words. "I haven't dated much since Brent because I knew I never wanted to go through that pain again. It was easier to just close myself off to it. But Rick - He made the fear worth it."

"Then why -" Johanna starts and Kate cuts off the rest of the question, not needing the words spoken in order to answer.

"I fought the fear and I won. And then in the exact moment I told him, he confessed everything." Two months worth of repressed tears prick at the backs of her eyes and she doesn't even try to fight them. "I felt so betrayed. I worked so hard to let him in and then as soon as I did - "

"He hurt you," Johanna finishes. "I'm so sorry, Katie. I never meant -"

"I know," Kate says, patting her mother's hand. "I know. And -" She pulls in a deep breath and it feels like the first full one she's had since that day on the mountain. "I know he didn't want to hurt me either. I do."

"He didn't," Johanna confirms and Kate looks at her mother, head tilting to one side. "I don't know if telling you this will make it worse or better but -" She takes a deep breath, shoulders rolling back with it. The words come on her exhale. "Rick came to see me a little while before your trip. Tracked me down at my book club. He was in agony over keeping the truth from you, Katie."

"He was?"

Johanna nods. "The man had tied himself up in knots. He came to warn me that he was going to tell you about it soon. He said you deserved the truth, even if it meant losing you."

The pain in her gut sharpens to a single white hot point. Her shoulders roll forward and the nylon strap of her bag scratches at her neck. She pulls it over her head, fumbling with the stiff flap, her hand slipping inside.

"Katie?" Mild alarm fills her mother's voice. "Are you okay?"

She can only nod in response. Her index finger brushes against the rounded edge of her phone case and she tugs it free. The screen blinks on and she has swipe at the glass three times before it unlocks. Her thumb stumbles through the routine of bringing up his contact and she lifts the phone to her ear with a shaky hand.

Half a ring later, her heart stops.

"Hello? Kate?"

Her throat shrinks to a pinhole, breath and words battling to be the first to escape.

"Kate? Are you there?"

"I'm here," she chokes out, her tongue thick and foreign between her teeth.

Silence flows down the open line as she tries to force more of the sticky words out.

"Kate?"

"Would you -" She stops and swallows, a pointless attempt to make herself sound less raw and desperate. "Would you want to meet for coffee or something?"

The question has barely passed her lips when he answers. "Yes. Absolutely."

"When?"

"How about now?"

A light chuckle makes the question bounce off her eardrum and Kate stands up. She starts toward the gallery entrance, the backs of her sandals slapping against her heels. Fingers brush between her shoulderblades and she looks back to find her mother right behind her, one hand fisted around the strap of Kate's bag.

"Yes." She stops in the main showroom. Johanna lifts the bag and Kate tilts her head to one side, lets her mother loop the strap around her neck, straightening and smoothing the edges. "I'm at the gallery. Where are you? We can meet halfway."

"I'm actually pretty close," Rick says over the sharp bleat of a siren and her palms go clammy. "Do you remember the coffee truck from the night we met?"

How could she ever forget?

"Yes."

"Meet me there in five minutes?"

She's already pulling open the door. "I'll be there."

Muggy late summer air sticks to her face as she hangs up and Kate looks over her shoulder at her mother. Johanna smiles at her, soft and warm, and Kate lets the door swing closed again. She turns back and wraps her mother in a fierce hug.

"I love you, Mom," Kate says, squeezing her mother's shoulders so hard that her own start to ache.

"I love you too, Katie," Johanna replies, her voice loose and watery. "More than you'll ever know. Now go," she says, smiling and nodding toward the door. "Go make it right."

The streets of Brooklyn hum with activity, the constant movement and chatter a wash of white noise in her ears as she speed walks down the sidewalk. Her feet slow as she rounds the corner of the food truck lot, the thud of her heart sending a tingling pulse to the tip of every finger and toe as her eyes scan the small area.

Every muscle in her chest contracts at the sight of him, already seated, one leg bouncing and a paper coffee cup boasting sustainability in bright green letters clutched in his hands. A half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich sits pushed off to one side of the table, the remains half buried under a crumpled napkin.

"Looks like you've been here for more than five minutes."

The words, inane and nowhere close to anything she'd rehearsed on the way over, rush out with the last of her breath. Rick's head shoots up, wide blue eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sun. His cup thumps down next to the sandwich as he jumps to his feet, knees colliding with the lip of the picnic table.

"Kate." One broad hand lifts in half-wave. "Hi."

Two simple words are all it takes to break whatever spell has her frozen in place. Her feet carry her around to his side of the table. She tugs the cumbersome bag up over her head yet again, placing it on the table as she sits down backward on the bench. He follows her lead, tall frame folding down until they're side by side. The tension in her muscles eases as she takes in the lines around his eyes and the shadow of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Hi," she parrots, curling her hands into the loose fabric of her skirt. "You came all the way over here for a grilled cheese?"

The shadow smile fades and his gaze shifts away. One hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck and she can see the ghost of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I, um, was actually on my way to the gallery. To see you."

"What? You were?"

His eyes, so bright and so blue, tilt back up to meet hers and his clean shaven cheeks flush. "Your dad called me yesterday. He told me that he was arranging a meeting between you and your mother and that he wanted to set one up for us too."

"My dad asked you to come to the gallery?" She blinks, tries to wrap her head around it.

Rick nods. "Yeah. And I agreed because -" He sighs, hands turning up in his lap. "Well, because I wanted to see you. Needed to."

The purity of the confession makes her heart do a little stutter step. "But you didn't come."

"No, I did. But the closer I got, the more I doubted it. I couldn't do that to you again, Kate. Couldn't be a part of meddling with your life. Not after -" He trails off, eyes shifting out of focus for a second. "So when I got to the gallery, I just kept walking. Ended up here instead."

"Rick -"

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, shifting his legs around to straddle the bench. One of his knees brushes hers and even through two layers of fabric it sends a spark of heat dancing up her thigh. "I'm sorry for it all, Kate. I know that I hurt you and that nothing will ever take that away but I would if I could. I would undo it all, if it -"

Her fingers are steady when she reaches up and lays them on his cheek, thumb brushing through the valley under his lower lip. Rick jerks, eyes going wide as his body stiffens. Kate turns toward him, wanting him to see the truth of what she's about to say.

"It's okay." The words come freely and without reservation. It really is. All of it. The pain and the heartache and the fear, they all washed out with the ebbing tide of her anger. "It's okay."

His eyelids sink, those long lashes she loves coming down to brush at the apples of his cheeks. Her names slips past his lips and he reaches out, a hand landing at the dip of her waist.

"Look at me," she cajoles, waiting a beat while he complies, heavy lids dragging open, disbelief written across his face. "I'm never going to be thrilled that you came into my life through collusion with my meddling mother," Kate says, her tone brighter than it's been in weeks. "But if you hadn't gone along with it, we most likely never would have met. And that -" Her head wobbles from side to side as she dismisses the idea. "That would have sucked."

A huffing laugh blows across her face. "Yeah, it would have," RIck agrees, the corners of his lips lifting again. "The past two months have proven that."

Kate nods. She traces the nail of her thumb along the rounded edge of his bottom lip, her eyes flicking back and forth between his. "And I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I ran away, that I shut you out."

"It's okay," he tells her, taking his turn to offer absolution. "I understand why you did."

A soft blanket of quiet envelops them. Kate sways toward him, her body not entirely under her control. Her other hand lifts to rest against his chest, palm pressed flat over the steady, if a little rapid, thump of his heart. She breathes deeply, filling herself up with the woodsy scent of his cologne. The backs of her eyes burn but she doesn't waste energy trying to fight the moisture that pools along her lower lids.

"I miss you," she says and his hand fists in the cotton at her waist. "A lot."

Rick nods and she watches the bob of his adam's apple. "Me too. I was - When your dad called yesterday, I was actually about to call you."

Her smile is as involuntary as it is true. "You were?

He nods again, taking the hand still on his cheek along for the ride. "Yeah, I was. I'd gotten some news - good news -" he clarifies as she feels her right eyebrow hitch in concern, "and I wanted to -" One shoulder lifts. "You were the only person I wanted to tell."

"Tell me now," Kate smiles, bobbing her chin even as his shakes.

"Later," he says. "It's not important now."

She wants to fight him, wants to insist that it is important. That _he_ is important. But sitting this close, so close she can feel the warmth of his skin and smell the clean bite of his body wash, she can't think straight. It's okay, though. Thinking can come later. So can talking. Right now all she wants, all she needs, is this. Him.

Them.

Her fingers slip around to the back of his neck, the tips pressing against the knobby protrusion of his vertebrae. His breath stutters across her cheek. Her chin lifts as his dips and the hand at her hip slides across her lower back. Her vision tunnels, his mouth all she can seem to focus on.

He tastes like coffee and buttered bread and she melts into him, the last of the tension dissolving in the heated blood pulsing through her veins. His free hand cups her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, and Kate lets out a soft groan, body burning from the inside out.

"I love you," he whispers, lips never fully detaching from hers. "I love you, Kate."

Everything inside her clenches for half a second before exploding, her stomach swooping and looping with such fervor that she almost feels sick.

"I love you," she says between kisses, her lips starting to tingle. "So much."

The grip on her waist tightens, closing the inch of space between their bodies. Rick groans as her hand slides up into his hair, nails scraping at his scalp. The kiss careens from soft to rough and back again, teeth nipping and tongues soothing as they try to wordlessly resolve two months worth of pain and bitterness.

A throat clears and they break apart with a wet pop, chests heaving. A barista stares at them from inside the coffee truck, thumbs hooked into his suspenders and a look of amused annoyance making the waxed ends of his mustache twitch.

"Nobody wants to see all that."

Rick scoffs out a laugh and Kate feels a blush flash across the already heated skin of her neck and face. Her brain sends signals her body ignores, her skin drawn to his by a force she can't and won't even try to fight. Rick untangles his fingers from her hair, thumb brushing at the patch of skin behind her ear.

"Maybe we should take this somewhere else? Because I'm not sure about you, but I'm gonna be really pissed if this reunion is interrupted by an arrest for public indecency."

Kate laughs, loud and free, neck tilting forward until her forehead rests in the dip where his neck and shoulder meet. She can feel the thud of his heartbeat against her temple, still a perfect match to her own. "We can go to my place," she offers, her uneven breath heating the soft blue cotton of his button up. "It's closer."

Her head rocks as Rick pops up, hair askew and shirt half untucked. "Let's go."

He holds out a hand and she takes it, lets him pull her up off the bench. He grabs her bag with his other hand and loops the strap around his own neck. Their fingers lace as they start to walk, feet moving them across the pavement in sync. Kate leans into him, her shoulder pressed against the defined bulge of his bicep.

"Promise me something, Rick."

He looks down at her, eyes soft and voice earnest. "Anything."

"Never," she says, squeezing his hand and letting her grin break free, "conspire with either of my parents ever again."

The bellow of his laugh makes her knees give a little. Rick leans down and presses his lips against her temple, his voice husky and deep.

"Deal."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	23. Epilogue

Kate holds the camera up to her eye, finger hovering over the shutter as she waits. A hawk slices through the thick summer air, wings spread wide as it glides over the treetops. It flaps its wings and ascends, silhouette cutting across the bright yellow nylon of one of the hot air balloons drifting across the mountain face. Her smile breaks free as she depresses the button, burning the image onto the crystal coated plastic nestled inside the brand new Canon hanging from her neck.

She rests the camera against her chest and stands back, lets herself get lost in the grandeur. Dozens of balloons float through the sky, no two alike. Classic stripes mingle with checkerboard and tie dye patterns. Primary colors stand out against more subtle pastels and the ones shaped like cartoon characters outshine the rest. The camera lifts again and Kate aims, waiting for the shot she wants.

"Please tell me you're getting a picture of that one shaped like Snoopy."

Kate hits the shutter one last time. "Nope," she says, slipping the strap over her head. She tucks the camera into the backpack at her feet and pulls the zipper closed. "The dragon."

Rick groans. "You know how to hit a man where it hurts, Kate Beckett."

She reaches for the pack but he snags it first, shrugging the straps over his broad shoulders. The gravel crunches under her hiking boots as she steps up to him and presses a kiss against his scruffy cheek. Mountain man is such a good look on him.

"Dragons live forever," she singsongs into his ear, arms wrapping around his waist, "but not so little boys."

"I'm glad my childhood trauma amuses you," Rick says, hand coming around to rest at the small of her back.

It's really too hot to be pressed up against each other but she doesn't give a damn. Two years of dating and they're still caught in the blissful honeymoon phase. She really hopes they always are.

"I love how deeply you feel things," she says, chin resting on his chest as she looks up at him. "It's one of my favorite things about you."

His lips are warm and a little dry against hers. They sway on the spot and she lets more of her weight rest against him. One of his hands comes up to play with the end of her ponytail and Kate smiles into the kiss, his fascination with her hair still amusing. Sweat beads at her temples when they break apart and Rick swipes at it with his thumb.

"Do you wanna go down and check out the festival?" she asks, tipping her head toward where their rented Prius sits in the gravel parking area.

"In a little while." Rick steps back and takes her hand. "Let take a walk first."

He tugs her arm and she resists him for a second before following, enjoying the pull of the muscles in her shoulder. They amble up the trail together, fingers laced and voices quiet. She lets Rick lead, not really caring where they're heading as long as they're together.

Her heart beat ticks up when they round the bend and the grilled cheese sandwich she had at brunch starts to churn in her stomach. She can hear the roar of the waterfall now, a violent rush of white noise. The toe of her boot snags on an exposed root and Rick catches her as she stumbles, a strong arm wrapping firmly around her waist.

He walks her to the edge of the cliff, sandwiches her body between his and the wooden fence. His arms bracket her torso, hands wrapped around the top rail. They stand together, his chest pressed to her back, taking in the view.

They haven't been back here since -

They tried once before, made plans to come the previous summer for the hot air balloon festival. But then his novel became a sleeper hit and he ended up spending the entire school break traveling to promote the first book in a hot new series about the CIA agent who falls in love with a British spy while trying to prevent a presidential assassination.

She's so proud of him. Of how hard he works and the talent he has. But even if he never sold another book or wrote another word, she'd still be proud. Still love him with every fiber of her being. To the rest of the world now, he's Richard Castle, New York Times bestselling mystery author, but to her, he'll always be Rick Rodgers, the man who pieced back together her broken heart.

"I love this view," Rick says, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear and one arm moving to loop around her waist.

Kate hums, her fingers swirling through the coarse hair along his forearm. A light breeze kicks up, rustling through the treetops and making the hem of her hiking shorts ripple against her thighs. She turns her head, presses a kiss of agreement to the angle of his jaw.

Rick tilts his head before she can pull away, catches her mouth in a delicate kiss. His hand curls around her side and Kate's stomach dips when the other lifts to her face. The tips of his fingers feather against her jaw. Her breath catches and stutters in her throat and she leans back, seeking more. It still takes her by surprise sometimes, the way he can affect her, how he can turn her to jelly with the smallest of gestures.

"I love you," he murmurs, lips still brushing against hers.

Kate hums into the kiss, toes curling inside her boots. "I love you too."

Their lips part, Rick's forehead pressing against her as his hand falls away from her face. Sunlight bleeds through her closed eyelids and she breathes deeply, pulling the moment in, imprinting it on her heart like an image on film.

"This is perfect," she says, the tip of her nose brushing his.

"Almost," Rick says. "There is one way it can be better."

Kate giggles. "Sex in the woods?"

"Okay, two ways," he laughs, his chest vibrating against her back as his left arm comes up to join the right around her waist.

Rick tips his head and Kate looks down, heart leaping up into her throat. An open velvet box sits in the palm of his left hand, the ring inside simple and perfect. The center stone - a topaz almost as blue as his eyes - refracts the afternoon sunlight, throwing tiny rainbows out over his palm. Tears pool in Kate's eyes and her vision doubles.

"Rick -"

"The last two years have unquestionably been the best of my life," Rick says, his voice suddenly tight and low. "I've accomplished more than I ever believed was possible. And it's because of you, Kate."

His hold loosens as she leans forward, the need to see his face in this moment overwhelming. Kate turns in the circle of his arms, her hands rising up to rest on the broad plane of his chest. Wetness clings to his eyelashes as he looks down at her, the hand holding the ring box pressing against the small of her back.

"You swept into my life with your passion and your talent and your incredible heart and nothing has ever been the same. Watching you chase your dreams gave me the courage to go after my own again. Everything good in my life right now has one root cause. You."

The tears break free and she makes no effort to stop them. She wants to speak - wants to tell him that he is a wonderful man with an immense talent and that would be true whether she was in his life or not - but the words won't come. All she can do is curl her fingers into his shirt as she wills her legs not to give out.

"I love you, Kate. I love -" He stops and swallows, adam's apple bobbing. "I love waking up next you every day, never knowing exactly what adventure we might have together. Falling in love with you has been the best thing to ever happen to me and I am so grateful and-" His voice breaks and she reaches up, thumbs smudging at the wetness trailing across his cheeks. "So grateful," he repeats, eyes locked on hers, "and so humbled that you love me back."

Kate fights to keep her eyes open, to keep herself present in this moment with him. She never wants to forget this, the way it feels to be standing here on this cliff with him - in almost the exact spot where she handed him her heart two years ago - waiting for him to ask the question they both already know her answer to.

He smiles down at her and Kate's stomach clenches, goosebumps raising up on her sun warmed skin. Rick takes a deep breath, his chest pressing against her bent elbows as it expands, and Kate inhales with him, so very ready for what comes next.

"Kate, will you marry me?"

Her lips are on his before the last syllable has hit the ground. Her hands cup his face and she breathes her _yes_ into his mouth, every inch of her body tingling with certainty and joy. He was right.

Now it's perfect.

* * *

 _We know the journey to get to this point was long and tortured and we appreciate so very much those readers who stuck by us and never gave up hope that we'd get here. Your support kept us coming back to this universe. Hopefully the end to this story was worth the wait. Thank you for reading and, as always, your thoughts and comments are greatly appreciated._

A/N (Alex): Thank you to everyone who enthusiastically read and championed this story over the last year and a half. I hope we brought even half as much happiness to your lives as you brought mine with your flails and kind words. Thank you to Jenny for approaching me with this idea. It was an honor to get to write this story with you. You have true talent and I look forward to seeing your words on a shelf one day soon.

A/N (Jenny): This universe has been so much fun to create and play in and the reactions of the readers have made that even more true. Thank you all for your encouragement, enthusiasm, and patience as we worked to make this story into something we love and are proud of. I owe an immense debt of gratitude to Alex for putting up with me during this process; You have the patience of a saint and I'm so glad you agreed to write this with me. Also a giant thanks to Kate Christie for all her beta work and cheerleading. We couldn't have done it without, KC!


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